


If by any chance

by chelouple28



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, mentions of throwing up, the general concept is: stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-09-27 12:53:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelouple28/pseuds/chelouple28
Summary: It makes him wonder, if there’s a universe where Eliott could remotely feel a little of what Lucas feels right in the middle of his chest, and, if by some luck, that universe is this one. Lucas wonders, and wonders, if this is the universe where he gets to be happy with the boy he loves.orthe one where le gang goes on their first vacation together and everything feels epic, until it doesn't





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> well well well. when did a tumblr prompt turn into a chaptered fic? this is why i can't be trusted.
> 
> so this is the first part of one of my prompts, but it's turning out to be so long i feel like just one single post on tumblr that long would be hell. so i've decided it to upload it in three parts throughout this week and next week (because i still have a shitton to edit and paint me a song's epilogue is waiting to be released).
> 
> sorry for the confusion, but i hope you guys will sitck with me with this one!
> 
> please enjoy!!! i really hope you will like this, let me know. love you guys!!!! <33
> 
> send me more prompts or come share your love in [eluincorrectquotes](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/eluincorrectquotes)

“This week is going to be _epic_.”

Lucas huffs from the doorway, he can’t help the tiny smile that takes over his features as Basile rants off excitedly about how many girls he’s going to pull during their stay – not many, if you ask Lucas. Normal Basile can’t function around girls on a good day, now throw in the language barrier and the lack of alcohol: yeah, Basile isn’t getting any this week.

Probably ever. Lucas can relate.

Still, he hears Arthur indulging him as he enters the apartment with Yann, both struggling to get their suitcases through the threshold. He lets out a particularly unattractive snort when one of the straps on Yann’s backpack gets tangled with the doorknob, raising one eyebrow at his best friend’s attempt at keeping cool.

“What, you don’t think it’s going to be the most _epic_ week?” Eliott gasps into his ear, wide eyes looking at Lucas with mock outrage. _“Ever?”_

Ah, here he is. The reason why he’s going to die a virgin.

Lucas rolls his eyes.

“Ask me again when I’m not running on 4 hours of sleep.”

Eliott clicks his tongue, shaking his head at Lucas. He throws his arm around Lucas’ shoulders as they both stand in the narrow hallway, watching amusedly as their friends check out every little detail in the living room. The sun is setting already, if the lack of sunshine coming from the windows is anything to go by, and it suddenly dawns to Lucas that they’ve been traveling for more than half a day.

No wonder he’s so exhausted. (Or at least that’s the excuse he uses as he inches up closer to Eliott, letting his head fall against his friend’s shoulder)

(But when Eliott lets out a soft sigh at their sides pressing against each other, Lucas thinks he might not need an excuse for cuddling up to Eliott, after all.)

“So, were you guys planning on standing there all day or…?” Yann cocks an eyebrow at them, more than used to his friends’ weird antics. That seems to spurt Eliott into action who, still with his arm around Lucas, lifts his discarded bag on the floor and drags Lucas into the living room. Lucas yelps, managing to get a hold of his own suitcase in one clumsy movement before Eliott closes the door behind them.

“_Dude_.” He complains. “A little warning next time would be nice.”

Eliott merely shrugs, giving Lucas a toothy grin.

And Lucas’ sleep deprived brain wants to kiss the fuck out of that beautiful smile right then and there, the three pair of eyes looking at them be damned. He’s so tired, and he wants nothing more but to move closer to Eliott’s face, grab him by the neck and smash their faces together - his well-rested brain wants the same things, albeit with less intensity.

He doesn’t kiss him though; ignores the tingly sensation of his lips as he covers Eliott’s face with his hand and pushes him away instead, Eliott’s beautiful laugh imprinting itself against his open palm.

“Can you get your hand away from my face now, please?” Comes Eliott’s muffled voice, making Lucas snort at how ridiculous he sounds.

“No.”

Eliott gives him a challenging look, one Lucas is so used to that he knows what’s about to happen before Eliott even opens his mouth.

Soon enough, Lucas feels the wet brushing sensation of Eliott’s tongue drawing a sloppy line from his wrist up to his fingers, and he would find it so fucking disgusting if it weren’t for how endearing Eliott looks right now – mischievousness dancing in his eyes as he hides a self-satisfied smile behind Lucas’ hand.

“Still no.” Lucas laughs, pressing his hand harder against Eliott’s face and smearing the spit all over Eliott’s cheeks before the taller boy moves away, cackling and cleaning his face on Lucas’ covered shoulder.

“You two are absolutely disgusting.” Yann says in a flat voice, giving them a disapproving look. Lucas straightens his back, feels Eliott do the same, as they both try to contain their giggles at Yann’s face. He notes Basile and Arthur arguing in the background, probably over who does the dishes tonight, also lost in their own world.

This week is going to be great.

“Care to look at the sleeping arrangements now?” Yann says again. “The page said we would get 3 twin beds and a sofa-bed. I’m guessing that’s the sofa-bed?”

Yann points at the couch against the wall opposite of them. It looks fluffy enough, washed in a baby blue color and with enough cushions to make another makeshift-bed on the floor if need be. Lucas has never seen a sofa-bed in his life before, but he guesses there’s some sort of mechanism that will make it look more bed-like, because right now it just looks like-

Well.

A normal couch.

“I guess. Unless there’s another sofa under the sink.”

“Ha ha” Yann laughs in a deadpan tone. “Let’s go look at the bedroom.”

They follow Yann into the bedroom, Basile and Arthur trailing right behind them, still bickering about God knows what. Lucas is too tired to ask – as soon as they sort the beds arrangement he’s sleeping until tomorrow; dinner can wait until breakfast.

“Oh.” Eliott’s awed voice break Lucas’ train of thought, making him aware of his surroundings. “It’s beautiful.”

And it is.

It’s not like they came here not knowing what they had paid for, they’d obviously checked the apartment pictures before deciding on it – it’s just that, with these kind of companies, they usually put up one standard apartment that looks more or less the same like the rest of them, and when you get there you don’t know whether you’ll get the one with the futuristic kitchen or the one with the washing machine next to the shower.

Needless to say, Lucas is impressed. From what he’s seen, the rest of the apartment looks good enough – modern furniture, white cupboards and black dining chairs, and everything looks clean – but the bedroom is something else. Two beds take up most of the space, dressed in baby blue blankets too, matching the colors in the walls, and there’s a third built in bed under a big window that shows the heart of Oslo.

It kind of reminds Lucas of the bedroom from the second Peter Pan movie, the one Wendy’s daughter uses. He finds it inexplicably comforting.

“_Whoa._” Basile breathes next to him, impressed.

“Yeah.” Arthur agrees. “Far more than what I expected.”

And Lucas, because he’s Lucas (and did you really expect anything else?) moves even closer to Eliott, close enough to let his breath hit Eliott’s cheek when he stands on his tippy toes for a second before whispering:

“Bet you 10 bucks Basile will somehow manage to fall off that window in the middle of the night if he gets the bed.”

Eliott can only laugh loudly, making the rest of his friends jump, and shoves Lucas playfully before grabbing a fist of his t-shirt, pulling him back against his side.

“So how are we doing this?” Yann asks from the window, hands on both sides of his hips. He looks so much like his mother in that position Lucas almost wants to call him out on it. “You guys said you were fine with sharing the sofa-bed, right?”

Lucas can’t help but puff his chest at that, pride taking over his body as he nods at Yann with a confident move of his head. Stupid crushes and sexual frustration aside, Lucas knows his and Eliott’s relationship is something special.

Yann might be his best friend since they wore diapers, but Eliott – he met Eliott less than two years ago, at a stupid birthday party; a birthday party he wasn’t even invited to, of all things, he’d just been in the right place at the right time (the right place being his friend Imane’s house and the right time her brother’s birthday).

Lucas wanted a glass of water, and Eliott wanted to feel useful. (And he will deny it to this day, because he didn’t ask the beautiful, smiling boy to grab a glass of water from the tallest cupboard just to get a glance of his toned back when his shirt would inevitably rid up. No sir)

It’d all gone down from there and, three months later, Lucas felt as though they’d known each other forever. They went from Lucas and Eliott to _LucasAndEliott_ in record time, partners in crime with little understanding of personal space. Lucas basked in Eliott’s affection; lived for their film nights and breathed for the way Eliott would, more often than not, doze off on his shoulder after a long day.

Yann, being the literal angel that he is, never commented on anything; never demanded answers, or got jealous at the prospect of being replaced – he _understood_. He could never be the one Lucas would jump in the arms of after getting accepted into the latter’s dream college. He understood it was different.

Most weekend nights would end with either Eliott or Lucas staying at the other’s house, both too knackered from the mandatory party of the week to undress themselves or even properly tuck themselves in bed. It only made sense they would share the bed here, too – Lucas would’ve found a way to sneak into Eliott’s if the apartment had come with the right amount of single beds, anyway.

“We are.” Eliott beams.

Lucas beams back.

“Cool.” Yann nods back. “That leaves just the three of us- _No, Bas_! Get off the window, for fuck’s sake!”

Lucas turns to Eliott, giving him a pointed look that screams _I told you so! _Eliott just laughs quietly and ruffles his hair, lets his arm fall swiftly over Lucas’ back, curling it around his neck again.

They stay like that for a few moments, silently watching the chaos unfold in the room; pillows being thrown and Arthur crowning himself the king of the fairytale bed – because that’s what they’re calling the window bed now, apparently – rises up yet another argument, and Basile’s scream of _Fuck you I do what I want_ is what makes Lucas finally turn his head, laughing, just to find Eliott looking back at him.

“Do you see now how this is going to be the most epic week ever?”

He does.

***

So going to bed without having dinner was a lie.

In Lucas’ defense – and he’ll defend himself, alright – he doesn’t have friends; he has _mothers_. That’s pretty self-explanatory in itself, but in case anyone was wondering about the details, it just happened that he was forced to sit in the dining table with the rest of the guys and eat _at least_ one graham cracker, _because no one can be so tired they can’t get even a biscuit in their mouth, Lucas._

_Yeah well, who’s the pre-med student here, Eliott? It’s totally possible._

_You’re so full of shit,_ Eliott retorted before shoving the graham cracker into his mouth.

And that was the end of that.

(It wasn’t. There was a moment where everyone was screaming nonsense – that’s what exhaustion does to someone – and Lucas didn’t understand shit, but he did understand when he got threatened with a lapful of Eliott if he so much dared rise his bum a millimeter from his seat. He felt more than tempted to do exactly that, just to get Eliott to sit on his lap, but he was so sleepy he didn’t trust himself not to have an indecent reaction.)

(So Eliott stayed in his seat and Lucas was forced to have dinner. It felt like a loss all around.)

After kicking the rest of the boys out of the living room – _because no matter where the TV is placed, Basile, this is still where Eliott and I have to sleep_ – Lucas finally, _finally_, lets himself relax.

He falls onto the couch on his back, letting out a small _oof_ and spreading his arms up like a starfish. The velvety fabric feels good against his hands as he moves them up and down, closing his eyes and relaxing further into the couch.

Which is, exactly, the moment his peace is broken.

“Get up from there, hot stuff.” Eliott says from somewhere above him, and Lucas feels a socked foot nudging his shin. “We have to make the bed.”

Lucas just groans, hides his smile against the cushion when Eliott lets out a long sigh. He groans again when Eliott grabs him by the wrists and hoists him up against his own will. Lucas struggles against the hold, letting his head loll forward and smushing his face against Eliott.

“Leave me _alone_.” He whines into Eliott’s chest, getting his hands out of his friend’s secure grip to wrap his arms around his waist tightly. “I’m tired.”

“Which is why we have to dress this sofa-bed.” Eliott tries to reason with him. When the only answer from Lucas he receives is another halfhearted whine he chuckles, wrapping his own arms around Lucas’ neck and swaying them back and forth, chin resting on top of Lucas’ head. “We have to, c’mon.”

“I don’t want to.”

And Eliott must take pity in how defeated he sounds, because the next thing he says, he says it with a voice so soft and warm it’s enough to set Lucas’ insides on fire.

“I know, but we really, really have to do this now, Lu.” He whispers into his hair, gently lifting him up enough that his bum leaves the couch. “It’ll only take 2 minutes, promise.”

“I hate you.” Lucas states when his feet touch the ground, ignoring the wobble of his legs and frowning at Eliott. Eliott only laughs, which makes Lucas frown harder. “You think I’m joking? I’m not.”

“You hate me?”

Lucas hmms as he takes the sheets and blankets from inside the drawer under the couch, unfolding them and passing one of them to Eliott.

“Guess I’ll just sleep on the bathtub, then?” Eliott says as he tucks the last blanket into the feet of the couch – that finally looks like a bed now. Lucas was right, you did have to pull something to make it a bed. “It’s not ideal, I’ll admit – but I’m sure my skin will get used to the cold.”

“No.” Lucas shuffles his feet a bit, moving until Eliott is at arm’s length and then, before Eliott has a chance to react, he buries his faces in Eliott’s chest again. “I guess you can stay…”

“Yeah?”

Lucas nods, sleepily, and tightens his arms around Eliott when he feels a butterfly kiss being pressed to his hair.

“Yeah.”

“Let’s go to bed, okay? Let me change into my pajamas real quick.”

Lucas, being the responsible person he is, has been wearing his since they first got here, after getting bored of Arthur and Basile’s ongoing discussion of who would get the window bed. Some people (see: Mika) would say he’s only fast at doing tasks that revolve around sleep and playing videogames. Lucas begs to differ.

He’s also fast at masking his face into one of nonchalance whenever Eliott strips in front of him, while his inner gay is having a wild party inside his head – which is exactly what’s happening right now.

Lucas sits in bed in a daze, blatantly staring. He traces Eliott’s back muscles with hungry eyes, suddenly not tired at all, and wills his heart to calm down.

This is not the first time he’s seen Eliott naked – far from it. God, _so far from it_. Summers with Eliott are hell, with his friend being so adamant in walking around with only his swimsuit on – but seeing him like this, with a magical pinkish barely white light (and it has Lucas intrigued, how it’s almost midnight and the sun hasn’t fully set yet) drawing patterns on his skin; the sounds of the Oslo traffic filtering through the open window to their right.

It’s doing things to Lucas’ heart.

“Like what you see?”

“Uh?”

“Nevermind.” Eliott shakes his head at Lucas’ hazed eyes, smirking to himself. Sometimes Lucas feels like Eliott knows something he doesn’t. Once he’s changed into a plain white shirt – no pajama pants, because they’re uncomfortable – he sits next to Lucas, raising an eyebrow. “You’re going to sleep like that?”

“Like what?” Lucas answers back defensively, giving himself a once-over. “I’m wearing my pajamas?”

“But they’re like… long-sleeved.”

“Well, we’re in Norway, aren’t we?”

“We’re also in the middle of summer, Lu. You’re gonna run hot.”

“I won’t.”

“There’s at least 3 blankets _and_ me.” Eliott says the last part as if he’s part of the couch bedding which – all things considered, he might as well be. “_You’re gonna run hot.”_

“Okay, whatever.” Lucas gives in, because Eliott does have a point, and he’s starting to feel the sweat clinging to the small of his back already. He misses the way Eliott’s eyes follow his arms’ movements as he tosses his Spiderman pajamas over his head. In another swift movement, he pulls his pajama pants off and kicks them to the floor. “I feel extremely underdressed now.”

“What do you mean?” Eliott cocks his head to one side like a very confused dog.

Lucas gives him an incredulous look as he gestures to his naked chest and legs, registering a beat too late the smirk hidden behind Eliott’s eyes. He shoves the taller boy, hard, watching him tumble and fall on his back on the couch.

Serves him right.

“I take it back, you can go to sleep on the bathroom. Have fun with the cockroaches.”

“Fuck, you think there’s cockroaches?”

Lucas takes a second to answer.

“Nah, I don’t think so.” He sees Eliott sigh with relief. “Why, are you scared of them? Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from the big, scary bugs.”

Eliott pulls on Lucas’ arm equally as hard. Lucas lets out a surprised squeak as his head collides with Eliott’s shoulder, the sudden movement making his head spin a bit.

“I hate you so much.”

“Shut up, I think you gave me a concussion.”

“_You_ shut up, you dramatic _little_-“

_“Will you two shut the fuck up with the weird ass foreplay already?! Oh my fucking God.” _Someone screams from the other room – probably Yann -, startling Lucas and Eliott.

Their mouths snap shut instantly, and they look at each other with big, surprised eyes before bursting into laughter.

“_Shh_” Eliott complains, still laughing, the hypocrite, and places his hand on Lucas’ mouth, trying to muffle their laugher. They try to stifle their giggles into each other’s hands, rolling around the couch like two little kids.

“Okay.” Lucas heaves a breath, but a few treacherous giggles escape his lips, making Eliott snort again. “_Shh_. Okay. Okay.”

“Okay.” Eliott repeats, indulging him, a bright smile on his face.

“Okay. Get in bed, you nightmare.”

“Party’s over?” Eliott asks with a slight pout.

Good lord, his patience is being thoroughly tested today.

“Party’s over.” Lucas confirms, already making himself a human burrito beneath the blankets, hands itching to wrap themselves around Eliott’s middle already. The inches of separation between their bodies right now are too many inches away; inches Lucas is dying to get rid of. “Party will be here tomorrow again. Now come here, I’m freezing.”

Which is not technically a lie. The breeze coming from the open window had certainty risen chills on his arms a few moments ago, but he’d been too entranced in Eliott to even care.

Eliott complies easily, looking almost as eager as Lucas feels, and wraps Lucas up in a hug. Hands settling on his bare shoulder blades and legs entangling together beneath the mess of sheets, Lucas feels the day’s wariness leave his body.

He concentrates on Eliott’s fingers drawing circles on his neck, shuffles closer to him – so close there’s not an inch of Lucas that’s not Eliott and vice versa; the kind of close Lucas adores, when you can’t tell when one ends and the other begins – before pressing a kiss to Eliott’s cheek.

Eliott smiles down at him, steady hands now running slow laps on his back. Lucas sneaks one hand under Eliott’s t-shirt, the other trapped between his cheek and the pillow.

“To warm it up.” Lucas explains when he starts running his hand up and down Eliott’s back. Eliott only smiles wider, eyes shining in the dark.

“Of course.” He whispers back, playing along. It’s moment like this one, when Lucas starts second-guessing everything. Every little touch – that looks so casual to the public eye, but Lucas doesn’t miss the way Eliott sometimes sighs with relief when Lucas doesn’t shy away -, every lingering gaze and every maybe not so platonic compliment.

It makes him wonder, if there’s a universe where Eliott could remotely feel a little of what Lucas feels right in the middle of his chest, and, if by some luck, that universe is this one. Lucas wonders, and wonders, if this is the universe where he gets to be happy with the boy he loves.

“This couch is surprisingly comfortable.” Eliott breaks the silence, eyes still set on Lucas’ face.

“It is.” Lucas hums. He feels his eyes droop despite his determination to stay awake for this moment. No matter how hard he tries, Eliott’s hands soothing his skin lulls him to sleep.

As if sensing his inner turmoil, Eliott cups his head and tucks it under his chin tenderly.

“It’s okay, Lucas. Go to sleep.” Eliott murmurs on his hair.

“Okay.” Lucas murmurs back, but he doesn’t think he said it too well, because Eliott starts laughing fondly then. He debates with himself before dropping a kiss on his shoulder.

“Okay.” Eliott concludes, and Lucas thinks he can hear the smile in his voice. It only makes Lucas press his own smile on the side of Eliott’s neck. “Sleep well, baby.”

And Lucas is too tired to react to that, but as Eliott leaves one last kiss on his hair, he faintly thinks he’s going to talk to Eliott soon.

He can only hope this is the universe where Lucas gets lucky.

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woow part 2 of 3 is finally here!!! happy 7 month anniversary since eliott fell in love with lucas through a piano song, and happy reading!
> 
> as i've said already, a special thanks to my babeys lily and sophie, because this wouldn't look as good as it does if it weren't for them<3
> 
> enjoy!!
> 
> send me more prompts or come share your love at [eluincorrectquotes](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/eluincorrectquotes)

They are playing catch in one of the big clearings near the beach in Bygdøy, the expanse of the sea coming into view if they get close enough to the walk path, and Lucas can’t stop thinking about last night.

_Baby._

When he says he can’t stop thinking about last night, he _means_ it. It’s always there, in the back of his mind, since he woke up to a mouthful of Eliott’s hair and the morning sun warming up his cheeks.

It’s there when they leave the apartment, and Basile’s complaints about not having enough time to have proper breakfast are not loud enough to tune out Lucas’ thoughts; it’s there as they take the bus, Eliott holding on to a grab handle and Lucas holding on to Eliott; and it’s definitely there when a big movie screen plays a documentary about ancient life in Norway.

Lucas didn’t hear half of it, but he thinks the visuals must’ve looked nice, if the colors reflected on Eliott’s profile were anything to go by.

For the umpteenth time today, he finds himself lost in his own head, doesn’t even register the ball coming towards his face until it’s too late.

“_Fuck_!”

_Baby_, his mind uselessly supplies again as he loses balance and falls to the ground on his bum. And because he’s a very committed person, he lets the force of the fall push him completely over, the back of his shirt clinging to his skin when it hits the wet grass.

“Lucas! Are you okay?” Lucas squint as the July sun falls directly on his eyes, but he can see Eliott’s upside-down face jogging up to him.

“Yeah.” He grunts.

Eliott is looking down at his sprawled out body with some sort of hesitance, like he doesn’t know whether he should join him or help him up. Lucas doesn’t know either, although the former sounds pretty good right now.

“Are you sure?” Eliott asks again, the ever-worrier. “Nothing hurts? Your head?”

“_Yes_, I’m sure.” Lucas laughs. “My ego, maybe. That’s definitely bruised.”

That answer seems to soothe his friend’s worry, who just snorts, shaking his head as an easy smile settles over his face. A fleeting thought crosses Lucas’ head, joining the chaotic jumble of words that make up his mind; a sudden rush of affection, _because god dammit, even upside down, Eliott is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen._

Lucas smiles back at him, stupidly, with a dopey expression he’s sure would be a lot more embarrassing if he gave two fucks about hiding his obvious infatuation – luckily for him, he apparently left all his fucks back in Paris.

Eliott’s eyes widen a bit when he sees Lucas’ face, and Lucas really wants to look away when he realizes that maybe he didn’t leave _all_ of his fucks back home, but he forces himself not to, because this-

This feels like a moment.

Are they having a moment?

“Is he okay?” Lucas hears more than sees Arthur asking Eliott, breaking the moment. He deflates, disappointed and with an inexplicable need to kick his friend’s shin. Hard.

He rolls over, doesn’t miss Eliott’s fazed _yeah, fine _as he sits down properly, finding all of his friends crowding around him as if he’d been repeatedly stabbed and discarded into the sidewalk. His friends are ridiculous, which is exactly what he tells them.

“Oh my god, you four are ridiculous.” He rolls his eyes, dusting off his pants as he stands up, fixing his friends with an unimpressed look.

“You were just lying there dude, without moving.”

“Yeah,” he shrugs his shoulders, the _so what_ going silent. “I was comfy.”

“You’re an idiot, is what you are.”

Lucas sticks his tongue out to Yann, who returns the sentiment. The other three look at them with exasperation, moving away to their corresponding places in the game. Lucas stays where he is, and Yann does too, challenging him with his eyes.

“And you’re ugly.”

“You _wish_ you were as handsome as me.”

“I don’t have to wish for anything.” He retorts, eyeing Yann playfully, before raising his voice enough that he’s sure Eliott will hear it. “Eliott already thinks I’m the prettiest girl around, right?”

“Hell yeah!” Eliott turns his head when he hears his name being called, agreeing enthusiastically from the other side of the park with a raised fist.

Lucas throws his head back with laughter, ignoring the flip of his stomach when Yann raises his eyebrows and gives him a pointed look before turning back around and returning to his position. He’s starting to suspect everyone but Eliott knows about his object of affection – and then, in a panicky haze, he wonders if everyone _including_ Eliott knows.

His eyes snap up, finding Eliott immediately, who’s kneeling on the ground. He has hesitant fingers hovering alongside the petals of a flower that is perched near his feet as if he’s debating whether or not to touch it and completely unaware of the world around him.

Lucas releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding. He probably doesn’t suspect a thing.

And then, for another second, he ponders whether that makes things easier or harder.

“So are we playing or what?!” Basile yells from where he’s standing, arms spread out like the overexcited idiot that he is.

Arthur doesn’t give Lucas enough time to take another breath as he counts to 3 - barely has time to crouch down as the ball is being thrown towards the sky. And then it’s on.

It’s him and Yann against Arthur, Basile and Eliott, and whoever gets the ball to touch the other team’s limit line wins. It sounds a lot like rugby – or so he thinks – but he wouldn’t know since he hasn’t seen a rugby match in his life. All he knows is that he has to tackle and roll around, and run and catch and score the ball.

He’s really looking forward to the tackling part.

If it weren’t because they’re on the same team, Yann would be on the floor by now – because he’s not petty, no matter what other people tend to think, but Yann is the one who made the “no Lucas and Eliott are allowed in the same team” rule (a stupid rule, if you ask Lucas); and he’s not petty, but he is kind of pissed.

Okay, he’s petty, whatever.

It’s not his fault they win every game when they get paired together. But that’s okay, he supposes, because if he can’t win with Eliott by his side then he can at least tackle the (lovingly and gently) fuck out of him – which has been his plan all along, if he’s being honest.

Lucas has his eyes set on Eliott – and now, before you mock him, because _oh Lucas, you can’t take your eyes away from him_, he’ll let you know this is literally his job. Yann knows how to work Arthur and Basile out, but with Eliott? Eliott has the mind of an artist, completely chaotic and spontaneous, a puzzle with a missing piece that no one but Lucas knows where to find.

He studies his every movement, waiting for the moment when Basile passes him the ball, predictable as always.

Lucas’ eyes follow the ball as it flies through the sky and past both Arthur’s and Yann’s head, and he smirks when, as expected, it falls into Eliott’s waiting hands. He sets off running towards Eliott, gracious like a lynx – and he’s short, but he’s _fast_ -, and he doesn’t miss the way Eliott’s body leans to the right just a fraction.

Lucas’s body fills with adrenaline.

“You’re going down, Demaury!” In just a few seconds, he’s standing in front of Eliott, smirking at him, waiting for the moment Eliott will start running. He knows he has it right, knows what way he has to go to take Eliott down with him, but he tries to school his expression into one of doubt in order to not give himself away.

“In your dreams, Lallemant.” Eliott fires back, clutching the ball close to his chest.

They stay like that, looking at each other with fire in their eyes – and unfortunately for Lucas, as good as he is at deciphering Eliott, Eliott is the same with him.

Eliott narrows his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek with a considering look on his face.

“You already know which way I’m moving, don’t you?”

Lucas raises his eyebrows, biting his tongue as he shrugs. The subtle gesture only makes Eliott narrow his eyes more.

“Well, may the best man win.”

Eliott goes left. Lucas had expected that.

As Lucas lunges forward, it occurs to him that Eliott consciously let himself get caught. He dismisses that thought when his hands make contact with his friend’s middle, pushing him until they both tumble down to the ground, his balled up hands never releasing the grip on Eliott’s t-shirt.

They fall with a synchronized _oof_, Eliott to the ground and Lucas on top of him. They start wrestling for the ball, and Lucas thinks he hears faint cheers; some that sound a lot like his name – Yann. It makes him smile momentarily –, and then there’s Basile’s unmistakable screeches of excitement, taming Arthur’s encouraging words to Eliott.

A new sense of determination settles in his bones, eager to get him and Yann the winning point, no matter what. So, with as much strength as he can conjure, he props himself up and ignores Eliott’s forceful kicking, caging him between his spread legs instead, using his hands to grip the taller boy’s wrists.

He looks down with his trademark smirk. _You’re finally where I want you,_ he thinks.

Eliott looks up at him, wrestling against the grip on his hands, but he’s smiling so hard it puts the sun to shame. He’s panting - Lucas notices his cheeks have turned red with exhortation, and his chest is rising rapidly under Lucas. And that’s when Lucas’s mind takes a 180° turn, and he finds himself wanting to kiss him.

Eliott keeps giving him this look, challenging him to do something – take the ball from him, kiss him, wreck him. Lucas doesn’t know what that look means. Despite all those doubts, he lowers his head, his forehead almost touching Eliott’s, and he thinks he hears a voice in the back of his mind screaming at what he’s about to do.

Should he do it? Is this what Eliott wants?

But then Eliott is raising his head too, a drunk look on his face, and that’s the only incentive Lucas needs to close the space between the two of them. Except-

“Hi!”

Lucas jumps away from Eliott, scrambles to his feel so fast it gives him a headrush – so fast it feels like he hadn’t even touched Eliott in the first place; like he hadn’t been a heartbeat away from kissing him.

He stands next to Eliott, who’s still on the ground in a sitting position, leg brushing against his shoulder. He feels Eliott’s fingers wrap around his ankle, but he doesn’t dare look down. His eyes are stuck on the girl standing in front of them, who’s looking at them with a sweet smile. Her facial expression alone makes Lucas feels nauseous for some reason.

“Hello.” Lucas replies, trying to sound polite. The girl doesn’t spare him a glance, too preoccupied with eyeing his friend up and down. Lucas hates her already.

“I’ve been sitting there with my friends,” she points over her shoulder, her eyes never leaving Eliott. “You’re not from around here, right? I don’t think I’ve seen you around.”

First of all, lady.

She’s acting like she knows every person who lives in Oslo, and it’s driving Lucas up the wall. He can’t deal with pretentious people. Especially pretentious, blond girls with pretty eyes and sweet smiles who look at Eliott like they want to eat him up.

Eliott shakes his head against Lucas’ knee slowly.

“No.”

“Nice! Are you here on vacations, or…?” She inquires. Lucas hasn’t felt this ignored by someone since his high school days. When she only receives silence, and what Lucas can assume is a really fucking confused face from Eliott, she widens her eyes a bit. “Oh God, I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”

_Fake, fake, fake, fake._

“No- uhh, no. No, you weren’t interrupting anything. We were just playing around. And we’re not from here, no.” Eliott says in a soft voice, bordering shy, and it makes Lucas’ heart clench. Lucas wants to scream in his face that his English is perfect, that he never has to feel self-conscious. “What gave it away, the natural tan or the horrible English accent?”

And damn Eliott for being so charming in any situation ever. Who wouldn’t fall in love with him?

The girl throws her head back in laughter, with an exceeding force if you ask Lucas. No one asks him, sadly.

“You’re funny. I’m Mina.”

“Eliott.”

Eliott doesn’t get up as he introduces himself, looking cool as fuck sitting there and with the sun hitting his back, the sunlight outlining his figure with a weak glow. He thrusts his hand forward – the one that was curled around Lucas –, shaking the girl’s waiting hand.

Lucas feels his ankle turning to ice when he loses Eliott’s touch.

_I’m Lucas, not that anyone asked_, he thinks bitterly.

“Well, Eliott. It’s a pleasure.” She smiles again, not shooting Lucas a second glance. She points towards the ball, now discarded next to Eliott’s feet, and nods her head. “You’re good. I saw you catching some of those throws, very impressive.”

Eliott laughs.

“Thank you.”

“I could do with some teaching on how to catch a ball. I have the _worst_ case of butter fingers.” She emphasizes. “It’d be fun. It looks like you guys were having a great time.”

“It is! It’s literally the only thing we do in summer. Well, that, and going swimming, obviously.”

“So _that’s_ why you have such a pretty tan. God, I’m so jealous – I’m always so pale; you can’t catch a break here in Norway. Look.”

And _then_ she proceeds to tug at the hem of her t-shirt, revealing her smooth and defined collarbones, bending forward to get closer to Eliott – to show him a detailed version of her white skin? Lucas doesn’t fucking know. Her arms are just as pale as the rest of her body, he thinks; did she really have to put her t-shirt down?

Lucas has to get out of there. Pronto.

“Uhh…” He blurts out, eloquent as ever, cheeks turning pink.

The girl shoots him a brief look of confusion – the first one since she got here, which feels ridiculously rude to Lucas – before her attention returns back to Eliott. Lucas takes it as an enough acknowledgement to turn around and bolt out of the picture. He tells himself that Eliott not calling for him as he walks away doesn’t hurt as much as it does.

(Only it does, and Lucas feels a hundred kicks in his stomach the further away he walks, foolishly hoping for Eliott to politely turn this girl down and join him. He doesn’t.)

“Who’s that girl?” Yann nods towards Eliott’s direction.

Basile and Arthur have made a home out of a little rock a few meters away from where Lucas is standing, rolling what seems to be a chewed up pen between them back and forth. He’d find it a lot funnier if he didn’t feel like his heart had just been stumped on.

Lucas turns his head before answering Yann, because he’s a masochist – and instantly wishes he hadn’t. Eliott is standing up now, talking animatedly to that girl. He keeps doing that thing where he moves his arms around a lot, like he always does when he’s talking about something that excites him, his face lit up like a Christmas tree. Lucas usually melts at the mere sight of it, but it only makes his eyes sting now.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, shoulders slumping downwards. “Some girl Eliott is flirting with. You know him, too pretty for his own good.”

He tries to brush it off, laughing weakly, but it sounds wrong even to him.

“Ah?” Yann sounds so confused it makes Lucas wonder if he somehow said all that in another language. “Flirting? But I thought you and Eliott…”

“Me and Eliott what?”

“Aren’t you guys like, I don’t know-“ He trails off.

Lucas gives him a weird look.

“Are we what?”

“Like, dating?”

“What? No!” Lucas almost shouts, eyes comically wide and mouth hung open. “I fucking wish, but. No.”

“Oh.” Yann studies him, eyes searching Lucas’ face – what for, Lucas doesn’t know. A hint of a lie? Lucas wishes he was lying. Lucas wishes that _Mina_ girl had stayed at home today, because maybe then their almost kiss would have been a complete kiss.

But then he thinks Eliott probably didn’t want that kiss anyway, and he feels like an idiot for thinking any of this was mutual. So maybe it’s for the best.

Lucas wishes he could stop jumping to conclusions all the fucking time.

“I just thought- but all the cuddling? The incessant PDA? All those ‘sleepovers’ we were never invited to? We just thought you guys were shy about it, we were waiting for one of you to mention it.”

“Well, we’re not.” Lucas repeats, a bitter sensation gnawing at his heart. “We wouldn’t hide that from you. That’s stupid.”

“But you like him?”

“Yeah, and?” Lucas snaps, suddenly drained. He wants the conversation to be over. He wants to get into a fucking bus, crash Arthur’s bed – because he ended up getting the windowside bed – and not get up until tomorrow. “He doesn’t like me back. Obviously.”

_Talk to Eliott soon_, he thinks bitterly as he watches Eliott curl his hand around the girl’s arm, _great fucking idea, Lucas._

_Baby,_ his mind screams again.

_Shut the fuck up,_ he screams back.

“He doesn’t?”

“I thought he did, for a second.” He admits, casting another glance to Eliott before setting his gaze on the floor. Eliott’s loud laugh makes his head pound. “Now I just think it was all in my head. I don’t know, man. It’s always the same, he loves me, I know he does; but then he goes to parties, and makes out with people, and- I don’t know anything anymore.”

“I think he likes you. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“Yeah, like he looks at that girl over there? Or every other person he’s kissed at all those parties?” He spits out. “That’s just his eyes, Yann. They’re so bright all the time that it’s ridiculous. I’m not special. Not in the way I want to be.”

“All that touching, though?”

“He’s a tactile guy, I guess.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it, he never acts like that with us. And either way, I don’t think he’s looking at that girl the way he looks at you. Or anyone else, for that matter.”_ How do you know?_ Lucas wants to scream. “I think, however, that you should talk to him. C’mon, when was the last time he actually made out with someone?”

“I don’t know.” Lucas’ brain laughs at him. _Liar_. “Or, since last Halloween, I guess. Whatever.”

“Talk to him.” Yann insists.

“And say what? Hey Eliott, I know we’ve been friends for over two years and I consider you one of my favorite people in the world; remember all that platonic cuddling? Yeah, guess it wasn’t platonic after all. Oh and by the way, you look hot as fuck without a shirt on.”

“Yes!”

“_No_.”

“No to what?” Eliott pipes in, smiling at them before setting his arm over Lucas’ shoulders; the gesture makes Lucas’ skin prickle – though with desire or shame, he isn’t sure. He ignores the pointed look Yann shoots him. “What were you talking about?”

“Oh, nothing. We were just arguing over what to have for dinner.” Yann says nonchalantly; his good improvising skills surprising Lucas.

“Options?”

“I say pizza, Lucas says kebab.”

And he hadn’t, but now that Yann mentions it, he would die to get his hands on a good kebab right now. All that emotional breakdown has left him starving.

“Kebab. Definitely.” Eliott doesn’t miss a beat as he nudges Lucas’ shoulder, smiling at him. Lucas tries not to think about how he’d been giving the girl that same smile, but fails horribly at it.

“Hey dude,” Arthur looks up from his, apparently very heated, competition of rolling the pen. “Who was that girl you were talking to?”

Eliott’s eyes lights up at that. It makes Lucas dig his fingers into his waist.

“Oh, that was Mina. She’s really nice, she’s doing Film Studies.” Eliott explains. “Second year. She also sort of invited us to a party tonight? What do you guys think?”

Lucas grits his teeth.

“A party?”

“Yeah, apparently one of her friends has this huge ass house near, Salt, I think she called it?”

“I think that’s the thing we passed next to the Opera House. The weird cabin with all those shirts hanging off it.” Yann recalls.

“Hmm yeah, anyway- and she’s throwing a solstice party, or whatever the hell that means. She said we looked cool, and that if we wanted to go we’re more than welcome to join her.”

“Sweet, man!”

“Yeah, trust Eliott to get us into a party in freaking _Norway_.”

“So you guys want to go?”

“Hell yeah, dude.” Basile exclaims, bouncing to his feet. “Imagine all the girls that will turn up. This is my chance, I can feel it.”

Lucas has to physically bite his tongue to restrain himself from saying something like _it’s definitely not your chance, stop being so deluded – _and he feels infinitely awful half a second later for thinking like that in the first place.

“Great! She said she’d text me the details later, but we might want to head back to the apartment now if we want to shower and eat first. Kebabs, right?” Eliott says the last question looking at Lucas, who is too busy trying not to flinch at the thought of Eliott exchanging numbers with Mina.

He tries to return Eliott’s playful smile, but he thinks he doesn’t do a very job at it when Eliott’s face changes into a confused one. He discreetly retracts himself from Eliott’s grip, going to give Arthur a hand to help him stand up from the grass and using it as an excuse.

“Change? Fuck, I don’t think I’ve brought any nice shirts with me, guys.” Basile complains as they start walking back to the bus stop, making the rest of the group laugh.

Lucas laughs too, but he doesn’t look up from his feet, aware of the distance between him and Eliott. Comparing it to yesterday – when everything had been so warm and lovely; when Eliott hadn’t unglued himself from Lucas for even a second, and when Lucas had been so sure that this was the universe where they got things right -, it feel abysmal.

What the fuck had happened in the span of twenty minutes?

“Seriously, can someone lend me one?”

“You’re a mess.”

“You okay?” Yann moves closer to him, whispering in his ear.

It startles Lucas, who looks up by instinct. He ignores his pitiful eyes – there’s enough self-pity going on his head right now, he doesn’t need more – and Eliott’s lingering confused expression.

“Yeah! Yeah.” He makes himself smile. “Fine.”

Just like in the game, Lucas can read his friend’s body expression like a children’s book, so he doesn’t miss the way Eliott seems to want to reach out to him, but just ends up shoving his unsettling hands into the pockets of his shorts.

Instead, he flashes Lucas a smile, shy and hesitant, and it makes Lucas equally disappointed and relieved.

It’s fine.

(It’s not.) 

***

Lucas is _this_ close to tearing his hair out.

“I really hate it when you put product in your hair.”

Lucas glances up from where he was putting more gel on his fingers, watching Eliott through the glass mirror.

“It always leaves my hands all sticky,” Eliott follows, nearly pouting. He’s perched on top of the toilet, feet set together on the closed lid, and he keeps looking down at his phone every few seconds.

Lucas thinks he’s been texting with Mina since they got to the apartment, but he’s been afraid to ask. The possible answers make his stomach churn.

“Don’t touch it then.”

Eliott frowns, taken back.

“Lucas?”

“Sorry, I was kidding.” He immediately apologizes, shaking his head. “I’m just tired.”

Lucas can’t take the worried looks Eliott keeps sending his way, so he moves his gaze from Eliott’s reflection, breaking the eye contact. He resumes to brushing his hair, letting out an irritated sound when he notices the gel on his hands has gone dry.

He cleans his hands slowly under the faucet, letting the water run in hopes of drowning his thoughts out.

“Is it just that, though?” Eliott asks again.

Lucas can’t help stealing a glance at Eliott. He sees Eliott’s curious eyes mapping his face out, millions of questions dancing in his face, and it makes Lucas gulp – because the thought of Eliott asking the right questions leaves him terrified.

Lucas had always felt as if this thing between him and Eliott was something he should cradle with gentle hands; something so precious it’d make sense to caress it with feathery touches – but it’s never felt as fragile as it does now. It makes Lucas scared of taking a wrong breath and shattering what they have into infinite pieces.

Lucas nods.

“Yeah.”

“Really? Because you’ve been acting all snappy since we left the park.”

Lucas tries not to dwell too hard on Eliott calling him out for being snappy, but it still feels like a punch on the face on top of everything. He can’t even be mad at him for calling him that: he _is_ right.

He’d been _awful_ all day, completely silent throughout the whole way back, even when Eliott had asked him to share a seat on the bus. He had just brushed him off, mumbling that he was okay with standing up, that it was only a ten-minute ride anyway.

It leaves a sour taste in his mouth, makes him feel horrible, because Eliott has done nothing wrong here, yet here he is – him and his stupid, jealous ass, answering his friend’s questions with rude one-liners because he’s an egoistic asshole who can’t deal with his emotions. He thought he’d definitely fucked it up when they got to the apartment and Eliott had disappeared into the bedroom, alone.

But then he’d stuck his head out of the door, a shirt and a pair of boots on his hand, asking Lucas if he wanted him to grab one specific outfit from his suitcase. Lucas selfish’ mind had melted to goo then, so sure Eliott wouldn’t want to get ready together at this point after how horrible he’d acted towards him, making him feel lightheaded with relief.

Instead of acting mad – something Lucas thought he deserved – he’d only grinned at him before disappearing into the bedroom again, saying something along the lines of _‘Never mind, prepare to be blown away.’_

Lucas doesn’t deserve him.

“Yes, it’s just that.” He makes an effort to genuinely smile this time, a guilty feeling scraping at his skull when he realizes he was being rude to Eliott again. “I promise.”

“You sure?” Eliott asks again, insecurity shining through, and it makes Lucas want to cry knowing he was the one who put it there. “Because I feel like- are you mad at me?”

Lucas visibly flinches at how small Eliott’s voice sounds. It sounds wrong – it all sounds so _wrong_. Eliott is meant to be the brightest soul out of the five of them, the day-dreaming artist with wonder in his eyes. Lucas has seen enough of Eliott being down, because depressive episodes are _ruthless_, and every time it happens he just despises it more. And he hates that he was so deep into his own self-pity that he let it come to this.

“God, of course I’m not.” Lucas vehemently denies, because he’s really not. He’s only mad at himself. Then, because he’s a constant disappointment to himself and he’s fond of breaking his own heart, Lucas crosses the bathroom in 2 big steps, taking Eliott’s face in his hands and bringing their foreheads together. “I’m not, okay? I could never be mad at you. You’re perfect.”

Eliott smiles bashfully, pressing harder against Lucas, and it takes everything in him not crumble to the floor right there and then.

_You’ll never have this_, the cruelest part of his brain reminds him, _only bits and pieces_.

He closes his eyes, breathes hard through his nose, focusing on the feeling of Eliott’s nose bumping with his.

“I’m not mad, so cheer up, okay?” He opens his eyes again, a small smile on his face, and nudges their heads forwards in a quick motion before stepping away.

He turns back to look at himself in the mirror, taking the bottle of gel hair into one hand, a weak thread of satisfaction warming his chest at Eliott’s now beaming face staring at him.

That’s better.

“Good.”

Eliott’s lit up face is so infectious that Lucas can’t help mirroring it, tries his best to ignore the wild thumping of his heart at the pretty picture Eliott makes when he’s like _that_. Sitting on a toilet, the features of his face illuminated by the shitty bathroom light and the rest of the guys’ chattering acting as background noise.

“Good, because I never want to make you mad.” Eliott repeats, standing up. He makes his way to Lucas, rest his chin on the shorter one’s shoulder, looking at their reflection with a proud expression. Lucas understands; he can’t get over how good they look together right now either. “Ever.”

“Ever?” Lucas teases him, smiling at the mirror, watching with careful eyes how Eliott bumps his head against Lucas with playful eyes. “What a boring life, without any arguments.”

“Sounds pretty peaceful to me.” Lucas feels Eliott’s shrug all over his body, fights against the want to fully sink into Eliott when the latter curls his arms around his middle. “Don’t you think?”

And Lucas is confused again, today’s emotional rollercoaster making him dizzy, because he thinks Eliott is saying something with his eyes that doesn’t match with the words forming at his mouth.

“Aren’t arguments meant to bring people together, though? Something about reinforcing the relationship?”

“Nah, that’s bullshit. We’ve never argued, have we? And you’re the person I feel closest to.”

Lucas tucks his chin into his chest, dropping his eyes to the floor.

“Good point.”

They stay silent, not moving an inch, studying each other in the mirror, when Lucas feels something slipping out of his hand. He looks down, finding Eliott’s hand brushing against his fingers as he takes the bottle from him and setting it on the countertop.

“You look better without the hair gel, anyway.” He says, right hand flying to brush through Lucas’ hair, messing it up further than it already was.

“What’s taking you guys so long?!” A knock on the door startles them, making Lucas jump. “Are you guys dead in there?”

“No!” Eliott answers for him, hand still buried in Lucas’ hair. “We’ll be out in a minute!”

“Can you guys go get the kebabs? Basile is wrestling with his suitcase and Arthur is too busy laughing at him. And I’m not ready yet, because _someone_ has been hogging the bathroom for half an hour.”

Eliott laughs into Lucas’ ear, warm and melodious - like everything Lucas has ever come to know.

“Yeah, yeah. Calm down, mom.” With that, he untangles himself from Lucas, hand leaving his hair and every corner of his body. Lucas clenches his jaw to repress the whine he almost lets out. When he looks at Lucas’ hair – sticking out in all direction and defying gravity - he snorts, the bastard, before tilting his head. “Leave it like that, it looks cute.”

Lucas doesn’t dignify him with an answer – because he is right, it does look kind of good. He rolls his eyes instead, giving him the middle finger.

“Let’s go, you idiot.”

His hand stops mid-air when he goes to open the door, shivering at Eliott’s breath hitting the back of his neck. He rests his hand on Lucas’ shoulder, giving it a light squeeze before his voice breaks the silence again.

“You’re my best friend, you know?”

Before he has the chance to reply, a ping coming from Eliott’s back pocket breaks the magic. He gets the phone out of his pocket, unlocks it, and Lucas feels himself break into a cold sweat when he sees the screen from the corner of his eye.

**From: Mina**

[image attached]

[image attached]

_which one looks better??_

Right.

_Best friends._

He opens the door almost forcefully, not caring to watch if Eliott’s followed him or not. He probably hasn’t, too busy answering to which dress looks better on _beautiful_ Mina. Fuck this.

Back to square one.

***

“I need a drink.”

Yann snorts to his right.

“Already?”

Lucas keeps talking, ignoring Yann’s remark.

“Or twelve. Twelve sounds good.”

“We just got here, dude. Calm down.” Yann dodges Lucas’ elbow, grabbing his arm instead to stop his pacing. Lucas glares at him. “Did you talk to Eliott, by the way?”

Lucas automatically raises his head to stare at Eliott.

“What do you think?” He responds absently, lost in Eliott’s form leaning on the wall, leg propped up against it as he chats animatedly with Arthur and Basile. He looks so cool, he thinks as he down a big gulp of beer. _And hot_. “I told you I wasn’t going to.”

In that moment Eliott decides to turn his gaze away from the rest of the group, his eyes finding Yann and Lucas, and waves at them with a big smile. Lucas waves back so eagerly it gives Yann second-hand embarrassment.

“I’ve said it already, and I’ll say it again,” Yann sighs. “But you two are the most ridiculous, stubborn people I’ve ever met.”

“Okay, but counterpoint: Basile.” Lucas fires back, raising his eyebrows.

Yann shakes his head, laughing, but doesn’t comment further. Instead he yanks Lucas by the arm - almost makes him go flying with the sudden motion.

“Let’s join the rest, you menace.”

Lucas struggles against Yann’s hold like petulant child, fighting against it by anchoring his feet to the ground – which doesn’t work, because he’s wearing converse, and they’re slippery as hell. The thought is what counts, he supposes.

Long story short: he doesn’t want to be here.

“I don’t want to be here.” He complains with a high pitched voice. “I _really_, really don’t. Yann.”

When Yann ignores him, he deepens his frown.

“_Yann_. You don’t understand. I don’t wanna see _her_.” He says with more urgency. The idea of inevitably bumping into pretty Mina, with her petty hair, and her pretty friends, and her pretty house – because a porch bigger than Lucas’ entire apartment complex is impressive – makes his skin crawl. “I especially don’t want to see _them._ Together.”

“Oh my God Lucas, he’s not going to hook up with her. Relax.”

“But you don’t know that!”

Lucas feels pathetic, acting like a child in the middle of a garden, in a house he doesn’t know the owner of, in a country that’s not even his. At least it’s a really beautiful house.

It’s huge. And as he said before, impressive – and he’s not talking about the house only; the party itself is mind – blowing. He hasn’t been to a house party this big before, he’s used to nightclubs and cramped-up apartments, and this looks nothing like that. This looks like a party straight out of a bad American rom-com.

“Eliott isn’t going to hook up with anyone tonight, period.”

Lucas shuts his mouth at that, decides there’s no use in arguing over something they’re not going to agree on. He walks the last steps towards the rest of the boys – stomps towards them, more like, which gets him a glare from Yann – and flashes them a strained smile.

“Boys.”

“You’ve been missed. Lallemant, Cazas.” Arthur nods at them, adjusting his glasses.

“We’ve been away for five minutes?”

“Five minutes too long.” Basile exclaims dramatically, falling into Arthur, who moves just a tiny fraction to the left. It’s enough to make Basile stumble forward.

Lucas watches the exchange with a tranquil smile, relaxing into the gate behind them. He doesn’t notice Eliott shifting places until he’s sled in next to him. He finds himself momentarily lost in the taller boy’s wild, grey eyes, the color illuminated by the street lamp they’re standing under.

“Hi.”

Lucas bites back a smile.

“Hey yourself.”

“Excited?”

“I mean, if I must…” He teases, masking his actual desire to get out of here, forget all about today and pretend Mina never existed.

“What do you mean, ‘_If I must’_?” Eliott gapes, offended, bumping their hips together. “We’re going to have the _best_ night ever.”

_I highly doubt that, somehow_, he snorts internally.

Or not so internally, because Eliott opens his eyes comically wide, making Lucas hide a laugh behind his beer.

“You don’t believe me?” He exclaims, dramatic as he is. Lucas rolls his eyes, smile tugging at his lips. “It’s going to be the best night ever. I’m telling you. Did I lie when I told you this would be the most epic week ever?”

“No.”

“And do you know why I know?”

“Enlighten me.”

His answer makes Eliott lean closer, making it look like he wants to confess to him the secret of the century.

_He’s going to tell you he’s in love with you_, his mind uselessly supplies.

_That doesn’t even make sense_, he hisses back. He really has to get his mind back in track, because it’s getting ridiculous.

“Because we’re here, together.”

_Alright_.

“Okay, how much did you drink? That was so cheesy, man.” He laughs weakly, punching Eliott’s shoulder. Eliott looks at him with a puzzled expression, something like hurt flashing across his eyes before it’s gone again, no trace of it ever happening.

Maybe _he_ is drunk.

“You know I don’t drink?” Eliott gives him a weird look. “Also, we just got here. I don’t even know where the drinks are, and you guys drank most of the beer on the way here anyway.”

“Oh, yeah. Oops.”

Eliott lets out a heavy sigh, his expression turning serious.

“Seriously, Lucas, what-“

“Eliott!”

Lucas downs the rest of the beer in one go.

He opens his eyes after swallowing, finding an empty beer in his hand and a girl clinging to Eliott. He takes a deep breath through his nose, and uses everything he has in him to not throw the empty bottle at her.

“Why are you always interrupting us,” he mutters, nostrils flaring at the image before his eyes. Mina has her arms around Eliott’s neck, and Eliott is hugging her back, arms wrapped around her shoulders.

_Suck it_, he thinks. _Eliott always rests his hands in the small of my back when we hug_.

“Uh?” She says when she untangles herself from his friend. About time, Lucas thinks.

“I said hi.”

“Oh, okay.” She says slowly, not convinced at all. As expected, she turns back to Eliott, who keeps looking at Lucas with a concerned expression. “I’m so glad you could come! I need to introduce you to my friends, they love playing football too.”

Lucas snorts, rolling his eyes, and rests his back against the house gate again. He tilts his head up to look at the sky, still not completely black, and if he focuses hard enough he can make out traces of pink and yellow at the corners.

“Get lost.” He mutters bitterly.

This time, however, it’s not as low as he thought it would be, because she turns around and glares at him.

“What did you just say?”

“I said nice loft.”

The fast reply leaves her puzzled. Good. She can wrack her mind with that, get lost for an hour or two, and come back to see him grinding down on Eliott as they dance together, Eliott’s hands gripping his hips as they lose themselves to the beat – which is what happens every time they go out together.

Lucas is starting to understand where Yann’s ideas come from – not that they’re true.

“Okay, anyway. You coming?”

She keeps tugging at Eliott’s sleeve, giving him the puppy eyes. Eliott’s eyes fly between the two of them, conflicted.

“I mean, I don’t want to leave my friends here-“

“There’s four of them, I’m sure they’ll find something to entertain themselves with. Plenty of nice girls here.” She smiles prettily, holding Eliott’s hand and tilting her head with an overwhelming charm.

Speaking of which - where the fuck have Yann, Arthur and Basile wandered off to? But then something else about her statement resonates with him, and he feels the inexplicable need to correct her.

“I like boys.”

The comment makes her shut her mouth – and if Lucas had known that’s what would take him to make her shut the fuck up, he would’ve said back at the park.

He imagines the situation would have gone something along the lines of _“Hi, I’m Mia.” “And I’m gay, now leave.” _The thought makes him laugh.

“Was that a joke?”

It dawns to Lucas that people can’t read each other’s minds – and thank god for that.

“No, I definitely like boys.”

“Well, there’s plenty boys too, then.” She concludes, and the tone of her voice leaves no room for discussion. “We’ll be back soon. C’mon, I think they wanna play a game of basketball.”

That seems to make up Eliott’s mind, who lights up at the thought of playing some basketball, and Lucas knows he’s lost this round. When Eliott turns to look at him, Lucas knows what he’s going to say already. He knows he’s made his choice, and that it wasn’t him what he chose.

He pretends it doesn’t feel like a bucket of freezing water being poured onto his head.

“I won’t take long, okay?” He tells Lucas, going to grab his hand. Lucas thrusts it into his pocket before Eliott can reach it though, so he curls his fingers around Lucas' forearm instead. He ignores the wound expression on Eliott’s face. “Don’t go too far away. I want to tell you something.”

Lucas nods, bringing the empty bottle of beer closer to his mouth. His eyes flicker to Mina, who has been studying their interaction with narrowed eyes, and there’s nothing left of that sweet, pretty girl they met at the park. All that innocence has been replaced with something akin to disdain, and Lucas finds himself filled with hysterical laughter.

_Oh._

_You’re jealous, too? That makes two of us._

“Have fun.” Is what he says instead, smirking at Mina. _He’s not mine_, his smile screams, _but he will never be completely yours, either. And you know that already, don’t you?_

Mina drops her eyes to the floor when he locks eyes with her, embarrassed, and it only makes his grin widen further. He turns around before Eliott has the chance to, refusing to watch him leave with _her_.

He needs to find himself a drink.

He loses himself in the crowd, stumbling into a few people, and he absently thinks that he might be a lot drunker than he thought.

He doesn’t find his friends. He thinks he sees a hint of Arthur somewhere inside the house, chatting with a buff guy near a window; then his feet move when he sees Yann across the room, but they slow down as he gets closer, and _that’s definitely not his best friend_, he thinks when he stands in front of a guy he’s never seen his life.

He finds a cabinet stuffed with alcohol, though. It’s in the kitchen, and Lucas distinctly remembers hearing someone tell them that no one is allowed in the bedrooms or the kitchen, but he’s not trashing the place around, and there are _hundreds_ of bottles in there.

He doesn’t think the owner will mind much if he takes a bottle of vodka with him – or a couple.

He’s halfway through his first bottle, sitting in the pavement with his back resting comfortably against cold concrete, when he first feels like he’s forgetting something.

After concentrating for a few minutes, he remembers. And he wasn’t forgetting _something_, per se; he was forgetting feeling that something.

Sadness.

It makes him smile, when he concentrates again, searching for a trace of that crushing sadness he’d been feeling all day, just to come back empty-handed. It only works like some sort of motivation to take another shot of vodka.

This is good, he concludes. It feels good.

He gets tired of playing with the grass under his ass after a while, standing up to his feet with wobbly legs. He laughs against the wall, the second bottle of vodka clutched between his arms, unopened.

He uncaps it with clumsy fingers. The first bottle is discarded by his feet, now empty.

He watches his step carefully, afraid of spilling some of the content, or worse – dropping the whole thing. He looks at his surroundings, and furrows his brow when he realizes he’s somehow made his way out of Mina’s propriety.

Unfazed, he makes his way back to the house and into the courtyard. When he steps out of the house, he’s greeted with the blessed sight of Eliott tossing the ball around with three other guys. They’ve apparently lost their shirts, and Lucas doesn’t give a fuck about the other guys, but he can’t stop staring at Eliott’s defined abs. His body is shining with what Lucas presumes is sweat, and it makes Lucas’ mouth water.

He takes another swing of the bottle, and this time he doesn’t hiss when it goes down his throat. He leans against the doorway, taking smalls sips every time he sees Eliott’s back muscles flex.

Isn’t there a game with tequila, lime and some salt? Lucas bets Eliott’s back is salty enough if the way the dim light flickering sleekly on his muscles has anything to say about it.

But then something happens, and various shouts startle Lucas out of his Eliott-induced fantasies. He gets out of his trance, shaking his head and instantly regretting it when he feels the world start to spin and his vision starting to double.

Still, he’s able to see two of Eliott getting clasped in the back, in what Lucas assumes is joy, given the guys’ beaming faces. So he must have scored, then.

He has half a mind to go there and hug him, tell him how proud of him he is, and apologize for this afternoon, and for this morning, and for every other time he’s been an asshole – because he’s sure there’s been other times.

He wants to go there and tell him that he loves him, that’s it’s okay that he doesn’t love him back, not in the way Lucas wants him to; go and tell him that he understands, that he shone too brightly to get stuck with little old Lucas, who is stuck with a shared apartment with people he’s barely close to and daddy issues.

He doesn’t, because he doesn’t think he could move from the doorway without falling on his face anyway. And then Mina is in his field of vision, half-hugging Eliott and giving him a high-five, and Lucas is gripping the threshold so hard his knuckles have turned white.

He’s hit with a sudden wave of sadness, so he brings the bottle to his mouth and takes the longest sip yet tonight.

“_Kjæreste?” _A voice asks next to him.

Lucas turns his head to look at him.

“Ah?”

“Oh, sorry. I meant to say, that your girlfriend?” The guy asks, nodding at Eliott’s direction. He’s tall – taller than any of his friends – and blond, and he’s looking at Lucas with curious eyes.

“God, no.” He answers, repulsed.

The guy laughs at Lucas’ offended tone before giving him a considering once-over.

“Wanna join me and my friends?” He asks, pointing to somewhere inside the house. “You look lonely here.”

And why not?

“Sure.” He concedes, shrugging.

Polite guy shrugs back, laughing.

“I’m Aksel, by the way.”

“Lucas.”

Lucas has to support himself on Aksel’s shoulder to get to Aksel’s friends, and he would be a lot more embarrassed if he wasn’t so drunk.

They stay inside the house for what feels like a blink of an eye, and before he knows it, the sea breeze is hitting his face and he’s sitting outside of Mina’s house with another five guys who look exactly the same in Lucas’ drunk eyes.

It’s completely dark out, and Lucas is not afraid.

It’s been a long while since he’s felt not afraid. It makes him feel good.

“Fuck, you think I can’t do it? Give me a drink!” A guy says. Lucas has to crane his neck to see where he is; the guy is swaying a bit, standing dangerously close to the edge of the deck, and it makes Lucas giggle into his hand.

“What are they talking about?” Lucas whispers-shouts to the guy sitting next to him. He thinks about trying again, this time slower, when he gets no answer.

The guy takes a drag of his cigarette before slowly setting his drink on the ground, turning his body to look at Lucas.

“It’s a competition.” He explains, releasing the smoke inside his mouth. It hits Lucas’ face, making him cough. “One on one, best out of three. Whoever downs their drink fastest wins.”

Lucas’ eyes light up at that.

“I wanna try!” He screams to no one in particular, bouncing to his feet. The sudden movement makes him dizzy, and he bumps into a street lamp. “_Whoa_.”

Another one of them shoots him a dubious look.

“I don’t know dude, you’re like… small. Isn’t alcohol supposed to affect you faster? And you look pretty wasted already.”

“Fuck you, I’m not small.” Lucas snaps. He makes his way to where the other two guys are playing with determination, ignoring his unstable legs, making the guy raise his hands in mock -surrender. “I wanna play, I said.”

“Okay, then.”

He doesn’t remember much after that. Doesn’t remember getting handed a drink, then another one, and _another one_; and he _definitely_ doesn’t remember drinking them all.

He’s left with a bubbly feeling, so warm and nice, and his tongue feel like cotton, just like the rest of his body. It’s soothing.

His mind is blank, and it’s nothing at all, and, funnily enough, that’s everything.

He knows there’s people talking around him, he can hear them over the sound of his own nothing, but he doesn’t make any effort in trying to make out any of the words.

It’s not until someone is standing directly in front of him that he registers his surroundings. It’s Aksel, and Lucas can see his mouth moving, but doesn’t hear any sound coming out of it. He frowns.

“Uh?”

“I was asking,” Aksel slurs, giggling, throwing his arm around Lucas’ shoulder. It’s a familiar feeling, except he can’t quite place it. He shrugs, the movement feeling like a slow motion movie, and throws his own arm around Aksel’s waist. “If you wanted to go for a swim?”

“What?” He asks dumbly. “I’m confused.”

Aksel laughs again, and Lucas lets out a few bubbly giggles too, can’t help himself.

“Yeah, man! It’s tradition here.” He nods enthusiastically, wide green eyes looking at Lucas. “You get drunk enough to feel warm and nice, and then, boom, into the freezing water!”

“Huh.” Lucas ponders for a moment. “Sure.”

And something in that decision feels wrong to Lucas. He feels something gnawing at the back of his mind, something important.

He feels like he’s forgetting something important. Sadness again, maybe?

Just to be safe, he grabs a discarded bottle from the floor on his way to the dock’s edge, taking a swing from it and smiling into the neck of the bottle when he hears hollers of ‘_Fucking legend, Lucas!_’ coming from the other guys.

He wobbles towards the edge, eyes set on the jet black water, and to his own surprise, he finds not even a little bit of apprehension at the thought of jumping into the freezing sea. His heart pounds against his chest with excitement, and he grins.

He takes one careful step closer. And then another one.

And then he’s being tackled to the floor.

“Have you lost your _damn_ mind?” Someone screams on top of him. The volume makes Lucas flinch. “What the _fuck_ were you thinking? Lucas, what the fuck?!”

Lucas doesn’t understand shit, doesn’t understand why there’s someone sitting on top of him, shaking his body and screaming frantically. He wants to tell that person that he’s sorry, that he can’t hear anything past the rushing of his ears; that all that screaming is for nothing.

“-and you’re so fucking drunk, you don’t even know how to _fucking swim_! What the _actual fuck_, Lucas?!"

Lucas blinks his eyes open, finding Eliott’s face looking down at him, and the moon is standing directly above them, making his figure stand out against the darkness. He wants to reach out to him, cradle his face between his hands, but he finds he doesn’t feel any part of his body.

“You’re… an angel?” He mumbles sleepily, confused out of his mind.

Eliott’s face crumbles then, and Lucas can see fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

His veins turns to ice, and he’s suddenly terrified.

That’s when he lets his own tears fall.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back with the final part, this time in eliott style <3 thank you so much for reading, let me know what you guys think! alt er love, as always.
> 
> OH AND BY THE WAY, HAPPY SEASON 6 NEWS AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY ELLE!
> 
> send me more prompts or come share your love at [eluincorrectquotes](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/eluincorrectquotes)

Eliott is, admittedly, not having the night of his life.

It’s not like he isn’t having fun or anything, because he _is -_ it’s just that, well, he really thought tonight would be going in a different direction.

And that’s his biggest flaw, isn’t it? He spends so much time inside his own head, carefully crafting the perfect scene, that he forgets that’s not how things play out in the real world, no matter how hard he tries.

Most importantly, he constantly forgets that his best friend is a beautiful chaos; unpredictable and untamable – he never goes by the rules, it’s only fair that he wouldn’t play the role Eliott had created for him. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised anymore. 

Disappointment surges inside his veins as he scores yet another point for his team, a Lucas shaped hole forming by his side the longer the night goes on.

He notices his absence when he lifts his head up and there’s no blue eyes looking at him; and when he catches a particularly impressive shot, and there’s no hand squeezing his arm – only Mina’s small palm, fingers spread out waiting for a high-five, and Eliott’s mind is an incessant echo of _wrong, wrong, wrong. _

His heart jumps wildly inside his chest when he catches a glimpse of messy brown hair and denim jacket from the corner of his eye, visibly deflating when he turns to look at the door, and Lucas isn’t there. He lets the ball tucked under his armpit roll far away from him as his arms fall dead at his sides.

He stares sadly after the crowds of people entering and leaving the house, indulging himself for a moment.

He can picture it perfectly: Lucas, his beautiful Lucas, running out of the house with a wild look on his face, finding Eliott already waiting for him, before skipping the three steps that separate the backyard from the house and throwing himself at Eliott, cupping his face with cold, slender fingers.

He imagines Lucas would look at him with that sweet expression he sometimes wears whenever he thinks Eliott isn’t looking at him, and he’d nudge their foreheads together, softly but with determination. And, in Eliott’s story, that would be the moment where Lucas would then whisper _‘I have something to tell you, too_.’ against his mouth, before crashing their lips together.

But Lucas never crosses that door.

“Rematch?”

One of Mina’s friends breaks him out from his trance. His hand pats Eliott’s back, and he smiles at him with an encouraging expression.

Eliott shrugs, nodding.

It’s time he stops trying to control reality, anyway.

Things will play out the way the need to, he thinks; there’s no use in chasing after Lucas to fulfill his wild fantasies.

***

His watch vibrates on his wrist, announcing to Eliott that it’s two in the morning.

Eliott moves to the side, abandoning the game, and looks down at his wrist to confirm that it is, in fact, two in the morning. He fishes his phone out of his back pocket, frowning at the bright numbers glaring back at him, and he frowns even harder when he sees he has no notifications from the boys.

Not even one snap from Lucas, who goes hardcore with the app whenever he gets some alcohol in his system. _Especially_ when he gets some alcohol in his system, and Eliott isn’t around to pay attention to him.

“Is something wrong?” A voice says next to him.

Eliott looks up from his phone, finding Mina staring at him with a small smile, a drink in hand.

“Have you seen Lucas?”

She frowns.

“No. Should I?”

An inexplicable sense of dread pools in the pit of his stomach. There’s something restless and uncomfortable forming inside his body, and Eliott is not superstitious - not generally, at least - but he’s not about to take a chance.

He doesn’t waste any time as he moves around the backyard to pick his stuff up. He bends to pick his discarded shirt up, throws it over his head without a second thought. He wrestles with the long sleeves as he blindly walks towards the house, missing Mina’s quiet ‘_Wait’_ as he enters the living room.

The moment he steps into the house he’s hit with the smell of alcohol mixed with weed and hot sweat, the music pumping from the speakers makes his head throb, and the crowds of people bumping against him leaves him overwhelmed.

He scans the room with wide eyes, silently thanking his parents for blessing him with such a tall complexion, looking over the heads of drunk teenagers in search of one drunk idiot in particular – because it’s Lucas, and it’s a party, and his best friend can’t be stopped when there’s alcohol involved.

His eyes fly to a group of kids sitting in a circle on the floor, playing what seems to be a really cheap version of truth or dare, and he immediately lets out a sigh of relief when he finds Yann sitting amongst the group.

He grins to himself, his mind going silent once again as he dodges bodies left and right on his quest to get to his friends. His legs move to the beat of the music, and as the beat slows down, his legs do too, his smile fading as his eyes move from Yann to Arthur, and then to Basile –

And Lucas isn’t there.

He starts searching more frenetically, looks for a mop of brown hair attached to a small body, a quiet laugh attached to a loud mind, and he feels his face heat up with a new sense of nervousness when he finds no sign of him. He clutches his phone with his fingers, feels his thrumming heartbeat on his fingertips as he sends a text to the group chat.

**To: Idiot and the Tantrums **

**Eliott: ** _Have you guys seen Lucas?_

He looks up from his phone, tapping his feet impatiently against the floor as he waits for any of the boys to check his phone. Yann is the first one to do so, and Eliott can see him looking around before frowning as he types out a response with clumsy fingers.

Eliott knows what the answer is going to be before Yann presses send.

**Yann**: _not since we left you two together_

Fuck.

Lucas had never made it back to the guys.

**Eliott:** _Ok thanks_

He scans the room again, with no luck. He checks the bathroom, the kitchen, even the bedrooms – getting an eyeful of some body parts that belong to people he’s never seen in his life, which Eliott could have gone his whole life without seeing.

Lucas isn’t in any of those places.

He runs out of the house, asking every person he bumps into if he’s seeing his best friend, trying to describe him as accurately as possible in a broken English. He receives a negative every single time, his bones turning to ice the longer he goes without any clue of where to keep looking.

“Hey, sorry, but have you seen my best friend? Lucas. Uh, he’s short. Brown hair. Really short for a boy. He was wearing a denim jacket?” He asks to a guy sitting on the doorstep, trying to keep his breath under control

The guy gives him a once-over through hooded eyes, cigarette dangling off his lips, before rising up to his feet.

“The French boy?”

And Eliott thinks he has never heard more beautiful words than those right there. He feels wetness in his eyes as he nods enthusiastically.

“Yes!”

“He left with Aksel and his guys almost an hour ago.” He says before taking another drag from the cigarette. He gestures to the general direction of the city. “They went over there.”

He throws a quick thanks over his shoulder, doesn’t think twice before he starts running, cruel words echoing inside his head as he wills it to shut up, because _you shouldn’t have ditched Lucas to play basketball, are you stupid?_ And _this isn’t your country, Lucas doesn’t know the city like he does in Paris; he doesn’t know anyone, he could be dead for all you know. _

He shakes his head, eyes flying from one place to the other, trying to take in as much as he can. He just has to keep going, Eliott keeps telling himself like it’s a mantra. Just find Lucas.

He repeats those words until they have lost any sort of meaning; he focuses on the dark streets ahead of him and forces his legs to keep moving instead.

“Lucas!”

He passes streets poles and runs between sharp bushes, desperate to find someone, anyone, amongst the dark streets he’s running through.

“Lucas! Where are you?!”

He hears the splashing sound of a body diving into the sea before he sees the group of boys throwing themselves off the dock, and he doesn’t know what drives him to jog towards that sound, but he’s thankful for whatever pushed him into doing it because –

There’s Lucas.

He’s a blurry figure standing under a street light, but Eliott would distinguish him from a mass of thousands bodies any time. He’s swaying back and forth on the balls of his feet, holding a bottle of something (Eliott doesn’t even want to know) between his fingers before taking a long swing of it. The motion is followed by loud cheers, and Eliott feels the sudden need to throw up right there on the pavement.

He keeps running, screaming Lucas’ name between struggling breaths, but Lucas doesn’t look at him.

His breath picks up even more when he sees Lucas move towards the edge of the dock.

He falters for a second, stumbling over his own feet as he watches with horrified eyes as Lucas places one foot in front of him, arms stretched wide at both sides of his body, and then another one, and another one, until he’s looking down at the water beneath his feet.

He feels a punch in his stomach.

Lucas has the pose of a man who is ready to jump.

And then, less than one millisecond later, he feels another one, harder, beating the air out of him, and the sudden realization leaves him wheezing.

_Lucas doesn’t know how to swim_.

“_Lucas!”_

He lets out a horrifying scream, so raw his mouth tastes metallic when he swallows a big gulp of air, his legs almost giving out under him as he sprints over to his best friend.

“Lucas, stop!” He yells again, desperately, and he feels his throat clogging up with unshed tears. “Wait!”

Sometimes, when he has nightmares, he’ll dream there’s a murderer chasing him through the house. That’s never what sends him into panic mode, though; not the part where a murderer breaks into his house.

There’s this moment in that dream, that absolutely terrifies him, where he knows he has to start running, can almost see the killer’s face looming over his shoulder, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t make his legs move faster. His body seems to get stuck in slow-motion as he watches the world unfold at normal speed.

This is what he’s feeling right now.

Suddenly, he blinks and he’s watching the fall happen in slow motion.

His fingers grasping Lucas’ soft jacket. The muffled sound of his jeans as he moves his legs. The rough feeling of a small pebble under his left shoe as he steps on it. The loud thumping of his heart throbbing in his ears. And in the middle of it all, Lucas’ face.

He’s whiter than he usually is, his eyes empty and mouth half – open. The gone expression on his face makes Eliott’s stomach churn, but still, as he has the chance to gaze into it a second before he sends them both tumbling to the ground, he has the fleeting thought that he has never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

A blink later, and they’re both rolling to the floor.

Eliott ignores the sound of fabric ripping, absently feels the wooden ground burning his knees as he cradles Lucas’ head with careful hands, making sure he doesn’t hit his head against the floor.

“_Lucas_,” He whispers, terrified, hands clutching at Lucas’ clothes, trembling fingers checking for any injury. Lucas only breaths through his nose, his chest heaving under Eliott’s legs. “Lucas, what the fuck-“

He doesn’t register the muttered ‘_what the fuck’s_ that leave his lips between wet hiccups, fingers tracing Lucas’ face with overwhelming care, afraid of breaking the boy pinned under him.

“Why did you drink so much? What the fuck were you trying to accomplish here?” Eliott cries, clutching the lapels on Lucas’ jacket when the younger boy only groans, and shakes him by the shoulders. “You fucking idiot, have you lost your _damn_ mind? What the _fuck_ were you thinking?”

His treacherous mind keeps replying the image of Lucas standing on the edge of the dock with every blink. It makes his body tremble, and his eyes fill with tears when he thinks of all the possibilities.

God.

“You can’t fucking do that!” He screams into Lucas’ face, shaking with grief. “I can’t lose you! I _can’t_! What were you _thinking_, coming out here with guys you haven’t seen in your life?! And without letting anyone know, too! And you’re so fucking drunk, you don’t even know how to _fucking swim_! What the _actual fuck_, Lucas-“

He’s interrupted by Lucas’ quiet voice, who has opened his eyes some time during his fit of rage and is looking at him with wonder in his eyes. It only makes Eliott want to cry harder.

“Are you,” Lucas hesitates for a second, probably dealing with the chaos inside his drunk head. “An angel?”

Eliott bites out a laugh, and he widens his eyes in surprise when what comes from his mouth is a choked out sob. Fat tears roll down his cheeks, damping Lucas’ nose, as he studies Lucas’ face with concern.

A new wave of tears falls from his eyes when he sees a tear fall down the side of Lucas’ face; his black, wet eyelashes shining with the moonlight.

“No baby, I’m Eliott.” He introduces himself with a small laugh, sniffing a little. He feels lightheaded with relief, and he thinks that it reminds him so much of what being drunk feels like.

Lucas glares at him, glassy eyes screaming_ I know that, you idiot_, and Eliott’s heart wants to burst with affection. Even as wasted as he is, on the verge of sobbing and completely out of his mind, Lucas is still there.

It makes breathing a little easier, he thinks, as his eyes run up and down Lucas’ body slowly.

“You idiot,” He keeps muttering. “You scared me so much.”

A high pitched whine makes his head shoot up, his gaze moving from Lucas’ crumpled shirt to his face, and he cups Lucas’ cheeks with steady hands. His fingers are not trembling as much as before.

“What’s wrong?” He asks gently as he catches Lucas’ tears with his thumbs. “What hurts?”

“Everything,” Lucas cries softly, shaking his head. “I don’t feel good, Eli. I wanna go home.”

“Can you stand?”

Lucas shakes his head again, crying hard.

“I can’t feel my legs.”

He lets out a small _fuck_ as he stands up, but he’s soon stopped by clumsy hands gripping his forearms weakly.

“Don’t go.” Lucas tightens his grip on Eliott, face red and full of snot. “Don’t leave me.”

They feel like a knife through the heart, Lucas’ inconsolable cries; and Eliott has to physically stop himself from lying down with Lucas and sleeping the night away right there.

“I’m just going to lift you up, okay?” He coaxes Lucas. “And then we’ll go home.”

“I can’t.” Lucas states sadly. “I can’t feel my legs.”

Eliott snorts against his own will. Drunk people.

“Which is why I’m going to lift you up, yeah? You love it when I carry you, remember? Like that time at Manon’s after finals when you were too tired to climb up your apartment stairs?”

Lucas closes his eyes with a tranquil smile, despite the tears still falling from his eyes, nodding.

“And then you fell on your butt when you tried to lower me to the couch.” He laughs before frowning again, face scrunching up. “I really don’t feel good, Eli. The world feels funny.”

Eliott clicks his tongue, running his fingers through his hair. He searches inside his brain for a shortcut that will avoid Lucas throwing up on his way to the apartment, sighing when he finds none.

“I know, Lu.” He sighs, crouching down until he’s at eye level with Lucas. He brushes a few strands of hair off Lucas’ forehead before curling his left arm under Lucas’ neck, the right one creating a secure grip on the back of his thighs.

“Make it stop,” Lucas whimpers as his body leaves the ground. His head rolls immediately to one side, and he hides his face on Eliott’s neck. It feels so much like he’s using Eliott to shield himself from the world, and Eliott is so worried about the boy in his arms, but he could never love him more than he does right now.

Eliott drops a gentle kiss to Lucas’ hair, ignoring the sticky feeling of Lucas’ tears and snot against his neck, and heads to their apartment.

“Let me know if you’re going to be sick, okay?” Eliott reminds him every few moments as they walk down the quiet, dead streets of Oslo.

He’s carrying Lucas like he’s nothing, like he’s a part of himself, and, given how weak his knees feel under him, his newfound strength comes as a surprise even to him.

The light summer breeze picks up at times, making the hairs on Eliott’s skin stand up. Every time a puff of air hits his face he squeezes Lucas’ body closer to him, in hopes of protecting him from the biting cold that settles over the dark streets at night.

“Eli,” Lucas mumbles sleepily against Eliott’s collarbone when the older boy dips him slightly to reach the building’s code lock. “Spinning. My head.”

“You’re gonna be sick?” Eliott whispers, foot trapped between the door and the threshold to prevent it from shutting.

Lucas lets out a pained whimper at the question, and Eliott brings him impossibly closer to his chest as an involuntary response.

“I don’t know,” Lucas whimpers again, a few tears escaping his closed eyes and rolling down the side of his face. “I don’t feel good. I don’t wanna be sick.”

Eliott looks down at him, his heart aching at the image he’s presented with. 

“But it’ll make you feel better.”

“_No_,” he moans, rolling in Eliott’s hold, almost rolling off his arms. Eliott lets out a surprised gasp, tightening his grip on Lucas’ shoulders and legs. “It _hurts_. Fuck, _Eli_-”

Eliott thanks his lucky stars for his fast reflexes, because he has Lucas propped up against the building in a heartbeat, holding him by the middle as his best friend doubles over in pain, emptying his stomach.

He makes soothing sounds, trying to distract himself and Lucas from the retching sounds coming from Lucas’ mouth, sneaking his hands inside Lucas’ shirt and drawing small circles on his tummy, warming up his freezing stomach.

“Let it out.” He encourages into Lucas’ back, softly, speaking over Lucas’ weak cries. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

With Lucas standing up, it’s easier to climb up the stairs to their floor. Nonetheless, Lucas presses his whole body weight against Eliott’s side, and Eliott throws an arm around his waist to help him up the stairs, almost dragging him up during the final steps.

“I’m so embarrassed.” Lucas whispers into his shoes, still slurring his words a little, and despite the bad lightning in the hall, Eliott can see his face is pink.

“Hey.”

When Lucas doesn’t acknowledge him, gaze still glued to the floor, Eliott uses his free hand to tilt up Lucas’ chin, forcing the shorter boy to look at him in the eye.

“_Hey_.” Eliott repeats. “You’ve seen worse from me. Should I be embarrassed too? This is just, well – a small fuckup. We’ll laugh about it tomorrow. Maybe not tomorrow, because something tells me you’re going to be hangover for a little while tomorrow. How _much_ did you drink, anyway?”

“Like, two bottles of vodka. And some shots.”

_Holy fuck_, he screams internally. How is he not in a coma at this point?

He doesn’t say anything as he unlocks the apartment door, and he thanks Lucas’ drunk brain for not noticing how he holds him closer as he does so. He doesn’t think he’s letting Lucas out of his sigh for a few months – years, probably.

The smell of tonight’s kebabs lingering in the living room fills his nostrils when he opens the door. He lets out a sigh of relief at the sight of the apartment he’s come accustomed to in the past few days, glad to see a familiar setting.

_Lucas is safe here_, he tells himself, _you can let go_ _now_.

_It’s okay._

Almost reluctantly, he moves Lucas to the couch, lies him down with immense care, and he has to remind himself that his brain is right, that Lucas is okay. That nothing happened tonight, that he can take his eyes off his almost passed-out figure without panicking that he’s not going to be there the next time he looks.

_But it could have happened_, a less rational part of his brain reminds him. Eliott rolls his eyes at that part, adamant to not let his thoughts consume him, and distracts himself with taking Lucas’ clothes off him.

“Lay down with me, Eli.” Lucas asks for the third time since they got here, squirming against Eliott’s hands as Eliott tries to take his denim jacket off.

“In a second,” He groans, trying and failing massively to lift Lucas’ torso. “Holy shit Lu, what did those shots have? Lead?”

Lucas tries to bat his hands away, refusing to cooperate, like the nightmare that he is. Instead he lifts his arms up, resting them on Eliott’s neck and bringing their faces closes together.

“You’re so nice, did you know that?” He slurs sleepily, pushing and pulling at Eliott slowly, as if he can’t decide whether he wants him near or far into the other room. “And you’re so _fucking_ _stupid_, Eli. Why don’t you see?”

Eliott shakes his head with a small smile, untangles Lucas’ fingers from his neck – and although he’s almost passed out drunk, Eliott has to spend some time to pry Lucas’ tight grip open – and goes back to changing his dazed friend into his pajamas.

“Why don’t you see?” Lucas repeats when he’s at eye level with Eliott again. “Why don’t you see?”

“See what, baby?” He indulges Lucas as he slides his open shirt off his shoulders.

“I’m cold.” Lucas dodges Eliott’s question, grumbling – because he doesn’t want to answer or because he completely forgot, Eliott doesn’t know. “Stop undressing me, you big, old menace.”

Eliott huffs out a laugh, swinging his left leg towards the edge of the bed and doing a quick job at undoing Lucas’ laces. He takes Lucas’ shoes off and throws them over his shoulder towards the general direction of the TV, wincing at the sound of a shoe sole colliding against the glass table.

“Here,” Eliott wastes no time in draping Lucas in as many blankets and covers as he can find, smoothing out the fabric and tucking the borders under his chin, self-aware of his mom attitude. “Good?”

Lucas hums, rolling to his side, the blanket falling off his shoulder as he does so, and he takes that as an opportunity to free his arm from under the covers. He reaches over to pat Eliott’s cheek clumsily, making Eliott move to the right to avoid getting poked in the eye.

“Hmm.” He sighs, his hair sprawled out on the pillow in gentle waves. He looks at Eliott with glassy eyes, smiling woozily at him. “Comfy. Like a cloud. A big, pink cloud. Cotton candy? You’re so nice.”

“Go to sleep, you drunk mess.” Eliott laughs, shaking his head. He stands up from his crouched down position on the couch.

“Nooo.” Lucas complains, wrestling with the covers as he tries to take a sitting position. He falls on his back when the sudden motion leaves him dizzy, letting out a small _whoa_ as he plops down on the couch again. “Lay down. With me. You promised. After undressing me, you would come here. And I’m undressed, but there’s no Eliott here. Why are you leaving?”

“I’m not.” He promises, trying his hardest not to laugh at how incoherent Lucas sounds right now. “Just going for a glass of water, you’ll thank me tomorro-”

“But you are.”

Eliott stops.

“What?”

“You _are,_ though. Leaving. You always are.”

The sad tone in Lucas’ voice makes him turn around, and he frowns. Lucas’ body is facing him, and he’s looking at Eliott with small, tired eyes.

“Lu, I just told you I’m going to the kitchen for-“

“Maybe not now, but - _someday_.” Lucas interrupts him again. “You’ll leave. One day, you’ll find your picket fence love, and I’ll have to stay back and watch as you leave. It makes my tummy feel funny when I think about it. Sad.”

“Lucas, that would never-” Eliott feels his heart stop for one horrible moment before it starts beating wildly against his ribcage. He takes one step towards Lucas, but the younger boy’s voice resonating in the empty apartment makes him stop dead in his tracks.

“But it will happen, I know it. You deserve _everything_,” He stops for a moment, and Eliott can see his lips move as his mind goes over the next words. “I’m not everything. I’m not. So if I get drunk, I won’t have to see it. Or feel it. And then, when you leave, I’ll be drunk, so it’ll be okay, because I won’t notice. It’s nice, like tonight. It made me feel not afraid. I just want to stop being so afraid, Eli, I just want to stop.” And then, a beat later. “Why do you have to leave? Why don’t you love me?”

_And what the fuck did just happen here._

Eliott is momentarily frozen, mind blank and mouth hung open.

“Lucas, I-”

“Why don’t you love me? All I’ve ever wanted was for you to love me. I just want to stop being afraid. I’m so afraid one day I’m going to wake up, and you won’t be here anymore.” He whispers into the dark, and the grip on Eliott’s heart suffocates him when he sees Lucas’ damp cheeks shinning with the moonlight coming from the window. “I’m so tired, Eli.”

The last word seems to break Eliott out of his stupor, and he doesn’t think twice before making room under the blankets and covering his and Lucas’ body with the largest one he finds, shoes still on and everything.

He doesn’t hesitate as he wraps Lucas into a tight hug, heart breaking a little when Lucas takes a handful of his jacket and grips it tightly with closed fists – and Eliott can feel his hands shaking against his back, from how hard he’s gripping his jacket or at the thought of letting go and Eliott leaving, Eliott isn’t sure anymore.

Eliott doesn’t know shit right now.

“Shh,” he whispers into Lucas’ hair, running his hands over Lucas’ back in slow motions. Lucas is still shaking in his arms, and Eliott doesn’t know what else to _do_. “I’m not going anywhere. You can close your eyes now, Lucas. I’ll be here.”

“I want it to stop.” Lucas whispers again, a sound so inaudible Eliott is sure no one else could have picked up.

Eliott is afraid to ask what _it_ means.

_Since when have you feeling like this?_ He wants to ask. _How long have you gone thinking there is even one moment of the day when I’m not thinking of you?_

_How could I make you feel so unwanted that you had to drink yourself to sleep?_ And then, because his mind is his worst enemy, _and why didn’t I notice?_

He doesn’t ask any of those question, no matter how much they’re eating him alive right now. Instead, he resumes to rubbing his hands over Lucas’ back, whispering words of encouragement to make him fall asleep.

“It’ll be better in the morning, I promise. Just close your eyes.”

He presses a series of small kisses to his hair, his hands sneaking up under Lucas’ pajamas, because he knows Lucas prefers it when his hands touch his bare back, no piece of clothing standing between them.

He tries to transform his touches into something warm and sweet, light yet reassuring, in the way he knows it never fails to make Lucas fall asleep. When a few moments go without hearing anything but Lucas’ breath hitting his neck with every raise of his chest, Eliott lets his hand roam over to Lucas’ shoulder blades and lets them rest there, unburying his face from Lucas’ hair to take a big gulp of air.

He almost starts coughing when Lucas’ voice echoes against the apartment walls.

“Please love me.”

Lucas’ voice sounds so far off Eliott isn’t sure he didn’t just imagine it, and he holds his breath, waiting for Lucas to say something else. When the only thing the younger boy does is sniffle, his nose bumping against Eliott’s throat as he turns in Eliott’s arms, Eliott releases a long breath through his nose.

“But I do. You don’t know how much I do. I hate that you don’t know.” He whispers against Lucas’ shoulder, hoping to engrave the words into his skin forever. “Sleep now. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Hmmkay. Burrito? No, him… Thanks.”

He waits until he’s absolutely sure Lucas is fast asleep, extracting himself from Lucas’ hold carefully when he feels the younger boy’s breathe even out. He stands up on wobbly legs and walks to the kitchen, reaching for a glass inside the cupboard and filling it with cold water as he takes his phone out of his jeans, sending a quick text to the group chat.

**To: Idiot and the Tantrums **

**Eliott: ** _Lucas and I just got home_

**Eliott: ** _Don’t make too much noise when you get back, he just managed to fall asleep_

**Arthur** _: is he okay_

**Eliott** _: Long night_

**Arthur:** _ we’re on our way _

He locks his phone after that, and his eyes fly to Lucas’ still figure, face scrunched like he’s having a nightmare, the tear tracks still visible on his face, and it makes his heart ache.

When his gaze falls on his jeans, his eyes widen at the big rips on his knees - now dirty and bloody. Tonight did most definitely not feel epic, he thinks bitterly as he moves to the bathroom to disinfect the bruises.

So much for dramatic love confessions.

***

“You really had to go and destroy my grand plan, hmm?”

Lucas groans, buries his face on the pillow as he flips over to lie on his stomach, hand stretched out next to Eliott’s head.

Eliott grins at him, face propped up on his hand as he leans over to smooth the lines on Lucas’ forehead with his free hand.

“Uh?”

“You really couldn’t wait an hour to let me explain. You had to get pissed drunk, almost kill yourself in the process, throw up against the apartment building and confess your undying love to me, right in that moment. And they say I’m the dramatic one.”

Eliott sees Lucas’ eyes moving behind his eyelids, the midday sun hitting his cheeks and tinting the whole room with a sun-kissed glow that makes everything look like an instagram filter.

“What is happening?” Lucas mumbles slowly, trying to blink away his sleepiness, his lips dragging against the pillow with every word. “What the hell happened last night?”

And then, when he tries to face Eliott, he scrunches up his face, eyes clenched shut.

“Holy fuck, what the fuck did I drink last night?”

“Hurts that much, uh?”

“_So much_.”

Eliott winces empathetically, moving closer to Lucas to plant a lingering kiss to his forehead. He feels Lucas’ fingers curl around his hoodie in a weak grip, and he presses his smile against Lucas’ temple.

“There’s a water bottle and some pills in the dining table, do you want me to fetch them for you?” He says as he lets himself get settled into a lying position, his arms flying to wrap themselves around Lucas when the latter tucks himself in the crook of his neck. “You smell like something died in your mouth 3 months ago.”

“I feel like _I_ died 3 months ago.” Lucas groans again. “Please go tell the sun to fuck off or something. So bright.”

God this boy in Eliott’s arms.

He’s all soft edges and warm cheeks, his face completely tucked under Eliott’s head, his nose poking Eliott’s throat, honey waves of hair tickling his chin with every intake of breath. He’s the sweetest thing in Eliott’s life.

Eliott snorts.

“Always so dramatic.”

“I feel like I’m on the verge of throwing up but I also want to eat 100 bucks worth of McDonalds. Can we?”

“Yeah, maybe not,” Eliott says as he moves away, trying to get a glimpse of Lucas’ face as he prepares himself for the conversation they should have had months ago. The smiles washes off his face instantly when Lucas’ fingers dig on his back as he grips his hoodie, and last night’s conversation hits him in the face with full force. “Hey.”

Lucas shuffles uncomfortably, letting go of his hoodie with hesitant movements.

“Sorry.”

“_Hey_.” Eliott repeats. And just like last night, he has to tilt Lucas’ chin with his fingers, slowly, noses almost touching.

Ocean-deep blue engulfs his line of vision. Blue eyes, brighter than the sky, blink up at him, a sea full of emotions sinking him in with the gentle pull of a mermaid until it leaves him gasping for air.

“Are you okay?”

“Apart from my splitting headache?” Lucas gives him a sardonic smile. Eliott can see right through him though, and the thought of Lucas not being able to do the same with him haunts his mind. “Of course I’m fine. Why? Did I say something embarrassing last night? You can’t hold it against me, we made that pact after the time yo-”

“Stop.”

Lucas falters, his voice dying out as his smile drains from his face.

“…_What_?”

“Stop, Lucas.”

Eliott breathes through his nose, eyes falling shut. He feels Lucas’ heartbeat pick up under his fingers, and he has to stop himself from taking his best friend away to prevent anything – or anyone – from hurting him ever again. Himself included.

He hasn’t slept all night, twisting and turning every few seconds, as a cruel song danced around inside his head, stomping and stepping and spitting all over his thoughts. He thought this – what he and Lucas have; he really thought Lucas knew.

Knew that this was a game.

Exciting, and chaotic, and crazy – like everything in Eliott. A pointless chasing, running for the sake of it, running around in circles to fall in each other’s arms at the end of the lap, every single time. That spark inside your body, enough to light up a flame that would put Pompeii’s fire to shame, a tingly sensations on your fingertips, that feeling you get when you’re standing at the edge of a cliff – but not yet.

That ephemeral moment between pulling and irrevocably melting into each other.

He thought Lucas knew he was pulling back on purpose – basking in the chasing of a person you know is waiting for you at the end of the race. He thought Lucas was doing the same.

Since last night, he isn’t so sure anymore.

“Um. I- did I do something wrong?”

“You really don’t remember anything about last night?”

“No.” Lucas says the word slowly, tasting it in his mouth, as if he’s not sure whether that’s the answer Eliott is looking for. “Should I? I swear, if I _did_ say something stupid, I probably didn’t mean it.”

“You got pissed drunk after I went to play that stupid basketball game with Mina. Do you remember that?” He says as he moves away from Lucas’ frame, only his knees brushing against Lucas’ calves.

He mourns the distance between them, knowing this is the only way he’ll get to have this conversation without chickening out or jumping straight to kiss the fuck out of this boy.

“Kind of. I think.” Lucas frowns, staring at the space between their bodies with disappointed eyes.

“Well, I don’t know what you were up to for those two hours, but next time I saw you, you were standing on the edge of the dock, completely gone, ready to jump.”

He tries to keep his voice from wavering, doesn’t get into much detail – for Lucas, who’s already nursing a nasty hangover, and for himself.

He can’t help the hand that moves to rest on top of the pillow, mere millimeters away from Lucas’ hand. He stretches his pinky finger, reaching just enough to brush Lucas’ soft skin between his knuckles. Lucas looks at him with wide, horrified eyes, and Eliott can see the second realizations dawns on him. _But I can’t swim._

“I…”

Eliott worries his bottom lip between his teeth for a second, eyes brimmed with tears, when he feels Lucas’ fingers walking up his arm before falling against Eliott’s open palm. Eliott closes his hand, giving Lucas a reassuring squeeze.

“And then I brought you back here, and you threw up all over your shoes.”

“Yeah, I think I remember that. You carried me, right? I remember feeling floaty.” Lucas murmurs with a small, sad smile, a dark shade falling over his eyes as he recalls last night.

“Yeah, no shit. You downed almost 2 bottles of vodka, all by yourself. And then you got really sleepy, and you started saying _things_.”

Eliott sees Lucas’ eyes fly all over his face like a butterfly at that, as if he doesn’t know what the safest place to look at is. In the end, he settles for letting his gaze fall to the pillow, a pinkish blush rushing from his ears to his cheekbones.

“Things?”

“Am I really that fucking stupid and selfish that I didn’t see how much I was hurting you?” Eliott spits instead, and he would find the way Lucas’ eyes bolt open a lot more hilarious if he wasn’t being momentarily eaten away by guilt. “God, Lucas, how could you even think for a fucking moment that there’s anyone – or anything – in my mind that is more important than you. How can you even think there’s not a second when I’m not, inevitably and irrevocably, head over heels in love with you?”

_“What?”_

Lucas blurts out, confused, and it sounds so much like he doesn’t believe any of the words Eliott said that Eliott feels like he could tear their pillow apart with his hands. He breathes twice through his nose, aware of Lucas’ eyes mapping his face with apprehension and an overwhelming amount of hope.

Eliott inches closer to Lucas, the distance between their faces almost inexistent again, and he searches Lucas’ eyes. Lucas looks at him with a bare expression on his face, trusting bright eyes acting as an entrance to his soul.

Eliott thinks he should feel a lot more pressured by the thought of Lucas giving himself away completely, but as he searches deep inside of him he only finds a sense of calmness. It comforts him as much as it excites him – and that’s what he loves most about being with Lucas.

His hand goes to hold Lucas’ cheek, fingers trembling in anticipation. Lucas closes his eyes when he feels the touch on his face, and Eliott sees the way his eyelashes flutter softly against his cheekbones like feathers brushing against skin.

“I am so fucking in love with you, Lucas. I’ve never felt anything like this, for anyone, ever. And the thought of you not knowing – thinking you have some sort of competition you have to fight to have me, it killed me last night. You have me. You’ve had me here, in the palms of your hand, since the fucking first moment I saw you.”

Lucas lets his mouth fall open. His bottom lip drags against his teeth as he covers Eliott’s hand on his cheek with equally trembling fingers.

“You- I’m too hangover for this. What do you mean- I’m.” Lucas babbles, looking at Eliott with glassy eyes. “_Eli_-”

And with that, Lucas is suddenly lunching forward, and all the distance in the world be damned, Eliott doesn’t want to spend another second with so much of an inch between them ever again.

Dry lips mold against his, and Eliott kisses back softly as Lucas tangles his hand in Eliott’s hair, tugging and tugging, legs intertwined together as they pull at each other until there’s not a patch of skin that’s not touching. Lucas is moving his jaw up and down in a way that has Eliott feeling all kinds of drunk. He can’t help it when his hands travel down Lucas’ back until they settle on the small of his back, fingers digging into the curve where his pajama pants are sitting low on his hips, and he swallows eagerly the moan coming from Lucas.

Lucas’ breath is so intoxicating and bitter it could put a bear to sleep, and his knees throb when Lucas brushes their legs together, but as they break apart to take a breath - Lucas peppering his mouth and chin with closed-lipped kisses - Eliott thinks he hasn’t had a better kiss in his life.

Eliott takes Lucas’ face in his hand, leaving fast kisses all over Lucas’ cheeks and mouth, anywhere his mouth can reach, as Lucas does the same, the both of them laughing against each other’s mouths, hands moving frantically to touch everywhere, anywhere they can reach, now that they can.

Lucas’ laugh sounds warm in Eliott’s ears, and it works as a nice complement to the sunlit room. Eliott presses his cheek to Lucas’ smile, hoping to engrave this moment in his skin forever.

“Fuck, baby, you scared me so much last night.” He whispers into Lucas’ jaw, nosing at his cheekbone as he leaves wet kisses there. “What the fuck were you thinking? Don’t you ever do that again. Even if I’m being a complete asshole, okay? Just, I don’t know, smack me with a shoe or something.”

“I’m sorry. For scaring you. And for making you sad.”

Eliott opens his eyes again, finding Lucas staring back at him already, and they’re so close he feels Lucas’ eyelashes brush against his nose with every blink.

Lucas is looking at Eliott with big, sorry eyes; there’s a glint there now that wasn’t there before, so bright and infinite that Eliott can’t help but fall in love with him all over again.

His heart beats fast in his chest, and this time it makes him feel so good, and alive, and like every other time he’s looked at Lucas, that he doesn’t understand why he held off for so long. He can’t believe he let himself think for just a second that everything would change the moment their lips touched – he should have known, though. Everything he does with Lucas is unpredictable and exciting; of course this would be the same.

“You don’t make me sad, though. You make me so happy, Lucas.”

Lucas beams at him, bobbing his head up and down like an over-excited puppy, hands fitting under his hoodie, and Eliott can’t stop himself when he leaves a smacking kiss on his cheek, giggly himself.

“You make me so happy, too.” Lucas confesses, softly, makes it sound like it’s the most treasured secret. To Eliott, it is. “I don’t remember what I said last night, but, for what it’s worth- I’m irrevocably and inevitably in love with you, too.”

Eliott feels himself grinning, ignoring the aching on his cheeks as he thinks that this is the widest he’s ever smiled.

Lucas grins back, looking at him through hooded eyes, before wetting his lips. As he gets a small glimpse of Lucas’ pink tongue, Eliott suddenly remembers that there’s a reason why he calls this boy in his arms a nightmare.

The wrestle in each other arms, hot mouths fighting against each other before slowing down until they’re just mouthing at each other, kissing each other languidly – lips pressed to lips, tongue pressed to cheeks, and to necks, and to that one mole Lucas has on the left side of his throat.

They pull away after a while, panting and smiling against each other’s mouth, and Lucas’ hand, that has sneaked his way down his hips, squeezes his waist playfully.

“How’s that for a love declaration?”

Eliott pretends to think for a second, a half-smile settling over his face as Lucas looks at him with an offended expression.

“I mean… Nothing will beat last night’s frantic running as I chased you around just to find your drunk ass trying to drown yourself in your own tears.”

“I _cried_? Fuck you, I didn’t. I never cry.”

Eliott barks out a laugh, stopping Lucas’ fist mid-way when he goes to punch his shoulder, instead tangling their fingers together and letting their arms fall in the crack between their bodies.

“My shirt begs to differ. So full of snot and ugly tears.”

Lucas gasps, tugging at his hand half-heartedly, trying to get free of Eliott’s hold.

“You’re so rude. I take everything back. Go kiss pretty strangers in the dark and leave me here to die. My headache and I have nothing left to say to you.”

Eliott laughs when Lucas tries to roll away, pulling him back easily in with one weak tug of his hand, and he holds Lucas under his chin. Lucas nuzzles his face on Eliott’s chest, throwing one leg over his hip, and rests their joined hands over Eliott’s heart.

“I was just kidding. Everything in you is cute. Even your sticky snot.” He whispers into Lucas’ forehead.

“Ew, Eli. That’s disgusting.”

“Yeah?” He challenges Lucas with a raised eyebrow, laughing when Lucas gives him an unimpressed look. “And what about this,”

He leaves a wet strip of spit on Lucas’ cheek, licking Lucas’ face from his chin and up to his eyebrows, laughing loudly when Lucas lets out a loud groan, batting at Eliott’s head with his hand, squirming under his hold as he tries to avoid Eliott’s tongue to no avail.

“Is it disgusting too?”

Lucas huffs, but Eliott can see he’s trying to suppress a smile as his eyes crinkle up with happiness. Instead of answering, he nudges Eliott’s face away with his hand, muffling Eliott’s laughter with his palm as he tries to hold in his own giggles.

Eliott presses a small kiss to Lucas’ palm then, and he can see Lucas’ bashful smile from behind his hand, making Eliott press another kiss there. Lucas moves his hand away, pulling at the strings on Eliott’s hoodie and brings him closer, nestling his face on Eliott’s chest. He finds Eliott’s hand and holds it, moving their arms back over Eliott’s heart again.

Eliott just smiles, brushing the hair off Lucas’ forehead with slow movements, the sound of Lucas’ soft breaths lulling him to sleep.

“I was kidding.” Eliott murmurs after a while, breaking the silence.

Lucas stirs in his chest, burying himself closer to Eliott.

“Hmm?”

“About the love declaration thing.” Eliott whispers, before brushing Lucas’ hair away and leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “It was epic.”

Eliott hears more than feels the smacking sound of Lucas’ lips pressing against his chest, and he smiles.

They fall asleep like that.


End file.
